Not Everything Ends
by dreamingofimpossiblethings
Summary: The Doctor is an old, sad, mad man. He has lost too much to love again. At least, that's what he tells himself. Clara is a curious young traveller who wants nothing more than to see the stars. But she, too, is scarred by a loss. Angie and Artie can see the connection between these two, loud and clear. They have a plan, but will the whims of the universe halt it in its tracks?
1. Late

A/N so yet another whouffle fanfic! Hope you like it! Might I say, the Doctor Who fandom on is really nice. I get so many reviews per number of visits compared to other fandoms! Thank you, whovians! Please keep up your awesomeness.

So this is basically a multi chapter story about the Doctor and Clara between adventures. Set mainly at the Maitland house. Will be in several POVs. Enjoy!

XXX

The Doctor stood outside the door of the Maitland residence, and, having already rung the doorbell several times, was becoming impatient. It was a Wednesday, and the time was 4 pm. There was absolutely no reason why Clara should not be home.

"Hello?" the Doctor called. "Clara?"

There was no answer.

A little anxious now, he jabbed the doorbell a dozen times in quick succession. Shifting from foot to foot, he glanced back at the TARDIS sitting on the footpath before the door swung open.

"Clar-" the Doctor exclaimed.

"Can't you take a hint? Clara isn't here!" A girl stood on the threshold, definitely not Clara and definitely not happy to see the Doctor.

"But, um, I..."

"What are you wearing anyway? Jeez, the 1800s were a long time ago, mister. And who are you, anyway?"

"I'm the Doctor." he said pleasantly, still unsure of what to do. He wasn't used to interacting with normal humans in normal places in normal situations. He was looking for Clara, who definitely was not normal.

"The Doctor? Bit of a boast, aren't you? Just because you've got a PhD doesn't mean you have to make it your name. Why do you want Clara?"

"She's, well, she's my, um, what do you people call it these days...friend! We're just going out to do, um, friend things!"

The girl raises an eyebrow. "A friend?"

"Yes...A friend."

"You sure about that? Clara never lets her friends come round to our house. Especially not guys."

"What do..." the Doctor started before finally catching her drift. "No no no! No, we're friends. That's all!"

The girl smirked. "I'll be the judge of that."

Shooting her a shocked look, the Doctor snapped, "No, shut up! Where's Clara."

"She's dropping Artie off at chess club. She should back in a few minutes."

"Oh. Well. Um."

"You can come in if you want," the girl said, a smile on her face.

"Oh, I guess, maybe I could..." he muttered, glancing back at the TARDIS.

"Come on. She'll come back soon." the girl went back inside the house. "I'll make some tea!"

The Doctor slipped warily into the house. He had to stay and wait for Clara now. No jumping forward a few minutes in the TARDIS. He would have to stay for tea.

"Sugar?" the girl asked as he sat down at the kitchen table.

"Five, please." Can't have too much sugar in your tea.

The girl gave him a funny look, then started making the tea.

"So, er," the Doctor stuttered. "What's your name?"

"Angie. I'm thirteen. And, yes. I'm fine. School's okay. And no, I don't enjoy it. You adults need to think if some less boring questions.

"I wasn't going to ask you that."

"Of course you weren't. Now." Angie said, setting the two cups down on the table. "You and Clara."

"Me and Clara?"

"You and Clara. You like her don't you? Like, like like her?"

"Um, well... no! No! Definitely not!" the Doctor emphasized. Because, of course, he didn't. No.

Angie did that irritating little smirk again.

"Denial."

"I don't! I really don't. And neither does Clara so it wouldn't matter anyway." the Doctor stuttered, trying to get out of this difficult situation.

"I'll be the judge of that."

The door clicked open and a voice called down the hallway.

"Angie! Angie, did a man with a ridiculous chin and a bow tie happen to come to the door? I think he's-" Clara walked into the kitchen on Artie's heels. "Oh."

"Hello, Clara!" the Doctor stood and offered a handshake to the boy who stared bewildered at him. "Artie! How was your chess match?"

"I-I almost won! If he hadn't taken my queen I would have checkmated him!"

"Ah, well you can't always win. I'm the Doctor, by the way."

"Doctor! What are you doing here?" Clara had finally regained her speech.

"Waiting for you. Angie made me some tea."

"We had a nice chat." Angie piped up.

The Doctor saw Clara shoot a suspicious glance at Angie, before turning to him.

"Well you're a bit late today." she said somewhat indignantly. "I have to take Angie to her netball game and help Artie with his homework. I don't suppose you'll be staying?"

The Doctor, however socially awkward, did not miss the irritated tone in her voice.

"Well..."

"No, of course not. You don't do normal."

So it was to be like that, was it? "Yes I do! In fact, I will! I'll say here with you!"

Out of the corner of his eye, the Doctor caught Angie with another bemused smirk.

Clara raised an eyebrow. "Alright, then. Let's see how long you last."she remarked before heading up the stairs.

The Doctor made to follow her before Angie leapt in front of him.

"You can't just follow her everywhere!"

"Why not?" Why couldn't he? And what else was there to do?

Angie did a little roll of her eyes. "A bit too clingy, aren't you?"

"What? Clingy? No, no, I'm not-"

"Look, do you want some advice or what?"

"Advice?"

"Firstly, you're going to have to get rid of that thing." she pointed at his neck.

"What? No! Bow ties are cool!" he argued, straightening it.

"Oh please. And secondly, just give her some space! You can't be with her all the time, and I think she would really appreciate it if you would just-"

"But-but I-"

"Oh come on. Don't try to argue. It's obvious. And I've only seen you two together five seconds! Just tone it down a little. You might come across as desperate if you follow her so diligently."

"Oi! I am not-"

Angie sighed loudly before spinning around and stalking off, passing Artie. "He's a lost cause." she muttered to him.

A lost cause? The Doctor was a lot of things, a Time Lord, an adventurer, a murderer, a madman, even a lion tamer (now that was an interesting story) but he was certainly not a lost cause.

A/N

Hoped you liked it, please tell me what you think!


	2. The Plan Backfires

A/N

So hello again! Here's the next chapter! I'm changing the POVs around so yeah. Please review, I love reviews! Reviews are cool!

XXX

DOCTOR

The Doctor gave the computer one last little zap of his screwdriver with finality.

"There. All fixed."

Angie raised an eyebrow. "I asked you to stop the Internet freezing, not rewire the entire system."

"Oh, well sometimes I suppose I do get a little carried away."

"A little? You upgraded all the programs to versions I've never even heard of, replaced half of the parts and the desktop background says Windows 17!"

"Yes. Brilliant system that one. Though the ERA version did have that software that transmitted smells..." the Doctor mused. He thought he may have had a hand in inventing that one, in fact.

"Who really are you? What is that stick thing? Are you from MI6 or something?"

"I'm the Doctor. And I told you, it's a sonic screwdriver. Advanced technology. Don't touch it."

"So you are a secret agent. Wait til I tell Artie!" Angie raced out of the room, ignoring the Doctor's protests and denials.

Sighing, he stood up and brushed down his purple coat. He had to be more careful.

•••

ANGIE

"Artie! Get off that stupid thing, it's important!" Angie pulled the Nintendo from her brother's hands.

"Hey! Give it back!" Artie grabbed for it.

"Just listen. I think the Doctor's a secret agent! He has gadgets and everything. And he rewired the computer with all this weird technology. Maybe he's from MI6!"

"That would explain his funny clothes," Artie said. "Maybe he's undercover. I wonder if Clara knows?"

Angie hasn't thought about that. "Hm. Well, whatever the Doctor is, I think we need to make a plan."

"A plan? For what?"

Artie can be so daft sometimes. "To make them get together of course! It's obvious that they both like each other."

He looks dubious. "I don't know. Maybe the Doctor does, I mean he was pretty happy to see her, but Clara..."

"Well, we both know that Clara doesn't show her feelings like that. Not after...well you know. But she let him come around here! She never does that, with any of her friends!"

"I guess. What do you want to do, anyway?"

Angie smiled. "I have a plan. It involves you, so listen up."

"Do I have to lie to someone? You know I suck at lying."

"Come on Artie," Angie rolled her eyes. "Just this once. And it's not like we're doing anything bad. We're helping then out. You have to keep it secret."

"Alright. Just don't yell at me if I let slip."

"Just don't do it. Now, we need Clara's laptop and a pair of pliers."

•••

CLARA

Clara stepped into her bedroom after seeing the Doctor off (he had been much more of a hindrance than a help while she was doing the washing, and spouted some extremely unnecessary facts while helping Angie with her project on Elizabeth the First). She sank down in her desk chair, casting a glance at the book sitting on the table. 101 Places to See.

Sometimes life at the Maitlands felt a little boring, a little too normal, now. Sometimes she wished she could spend the rest of her life traveling with the Doctor, racing across galaxies and saving planets. But she had made a promise, to herself, to her mum, to the Maitlands. She wouldn't leave them. Not for anything.

And, sometimes, though she would never admit it, the Doctor scared her. Simply his age, the things he had seen, the power he held in the universe, in all of existence. But what struck her most of all was his eyes. His deep, ancient, sorrowful eyes.

Clara set aside the book and looked for her laptop, intending on checking for emails from her dad, who she hadn't heard from in a while.

It wasn't on the desk where she had left it. Puzzled, she checked around her room before seeing it on the hardwood floor beside the desk. The screen was hanging by a single hinge, wires spilling out.

"Damn, damn, damn," Clara picked the mess of metal and plastic up from the floor to inspect the damage. It was bad. Even with her now excellent computer skills, she could not fix this.

There was a knock on the door.

"Come in!" Clara called. She could hear Angie gasp as she opened the door, though was that a little too loud? Did she know about this?

"What happened to it?"

"It just fell off the table. Or, at least, that's what I think happened." Clara eyed Angie out of the corner of here eye.

"Hey, I didn't do it if that's what you're suggesting. Do you think you can fix it?"

Clara shook her head. "I don't think even an IT expert could fix this. It's torn apart!"

"Maybe the Doctor could fix it." Clara didn't miss the tone in Angie's voice. Trying to sound innocent.

"Maybe he could." she replied.

"So call him."

Clara hesitated. She had the TARDIS number, but that wasn't for things like this. Broken laptops. Trivial. Meaningless in the life of a thousand year old alien with all of time and space at his fingertips. "The Doctor has enough to worry about."

"Oh." Angie sounded disappointed. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, Angie, are you sure you don't have anything-"

"Then why is he standing on the doorstep?"

Clara spun round. "What?"

Angie was looking out the window. "He's right there. See."

There he was. The Doctor, squinting through the opaque panel of the front door.

"If you has anything to do with this, Angie..." she trailed off, clutching the destroyed laptop to her chest and heading downstairs.

The doorbell rang again and again, the Doctor sure was impatient. Clara opened the door.

"What are you doing here?"

The expression on his face went from joy and excitement to shameful disappointment in a second. Clara immediately regretted snapping at him, she was simply shocked that he was here at all. But she couldn't bear to see that so completely, innocently happy smile transform into a saddened frown, those crinkled, shining eyes turn old and downtrodden.

"Oh. Um," the Doctor's eyes skittered around her feet. "I just thought I'd, uh, well Artie asked me to come and teach him some chess strategies."

"He did? He never mentioned that to me."

"Well, uh, can I come in, or is this..."

"No, no. Come in." Clara stepped back to let the Doctor into the hall. "I just wasn't expecting you."

"No one ever is, really. I just pop up at convenient moments. And what is that?" he gestured at the broken laptop she was clutching.

"Well, it used to be a laptop. Before it suspiciously fell onto the floor."

"Really? A fall like that shouldn't cause it to fall apart."

"Like I said. Suspicious." Clara glared at Angie, joining them in the corridor, who held up her hands in a plea for innocence.

"I can fix that."

"I guess if you have time..."

"Nonsense. I always have time. I have a time-ow! Blimey, what was that for?"

Clara has surreptitiously stepped on his foot, and gave the Doctor a warning glare.

"Oops, sorry, though I saw a spider. Come on." she set off down the hall to the living room, where Artie sat waiting with his chess set out.

Clara narrowed her eyes at him.

"Hello Artie!" the Doctor exclaimed. "I'll play chess in a minute, just let me fix Clara's computer."

He took out his sonic screwdriver from his coat pocket and began buzzing it at the laptop.

Clara, with nothing else to do, sat down beside him and watched.

She saw Angie pull Artie out of his chair and head towards the door.

"We'll leave you two alone." she called.

Clara could see what was going on here. Those two were always plotting something, and she could see through them better than they thought. She rolled her eyes. They didn't understand. They couldn't see what she saw. This was an old, old man. With a shard of ice in his heart.

She heard a loud crash from behind her and jolted. The Doctor came bounding into the room with a handful of little wires and metal screws.

"Where did you get those from?"

"Oh, just that little box in the kitchen. Really, it was horrifyingly dirty."

"Doctor. That was the toaster."

He waved it off, eyes intent on the laptop. "Well you humans should have some better uses for all this technology. You could be inventing something useful like a car that runs on sound waves or a climate controller to reverse global warming, and you spend all that power an resources on a machine that burns bread."

"Hurry up then. If you're such a clever boy."

The Doctor froze for a second, his shoulders hunched.

"Doctor?"

He quickly began working again, muttering, "Nothing, nothing, now if I can just rewire the hard drive to the main interface..."

The Doctor gave the laptop a zap of his sonic. "Done! Good as new! Better, even, if I don't say so myself."

Clara smirked. "Which, unfortunately, you do. Thanks, Doctor."

"Right now. I guess I'll be going then..."

"Yes, fine, back off to your snog box to find some other unsuspecting girl who will become completely devoted to you while I stay here because I won't run. Off you pop." the words spilled out of her mouth, so nonchalantly that they would have sounded kind if you didn't see the meaning of them. Clara mentally slapped herself, stupid, stupid, stupid. Why would you say that? It's not like it's true, it's not like she really thinks those things...

The Doctor's mouth opened and closed like a fish as he shifted from foot to foot.

"Oh, Chin boy doesn't have an answer to that, does he? Of course not. He's the thousand year old alien with two hearts and twenty seven brains," Clara snapped. Why was she saying this? It had all run trough her head before, but she had never imagined saying it. But she couldn't stop. "The time traveling god who has seen all the planets of the universe and has lived so long that mortal lives are nothing to him. Because really, what are we to you? Flickers of a candle flame. Nothing, nothing in the huge scale of time. We're nothing to you. Are we? And maybe I have responsibilities here, maybe I have people I love here. Maybe everyone else might blindly run away in your box, but not me. Just a minuscule flicker in the huge bonfire that is your life, so long and bright and big. Nothing. Nothing, to you."

Clara let out a breath. She didn't really mean all that, did she? It was horrible. All of those things were horrible, and she could tell by the way the Doctor's shoulders were hunched over and his eyes flickering that she had hurt him.

"No-that's not- no-n-I'm not..." the Doctor stuttered. "Sorry." he muttered, before turning and stepping quickly out of the room.

Clara heard the door click softly closed and the echoing whine of the TARDIS depart as she sank down in her chair and put her head in her hands.

It always ended like this. It always started off well, with her recklessly flirting and laughing to keep them at a distance, then somehow growing closer until she did something like this. He didn't really deserve that, not really. Sure, she had got the feeling he was a little put out that she didn't immediately run off with him, that she insisted on him coming every Wednesday at the time she ordained. He liked to feel needed. He was lonely, a lonely god.

He needed her. And Clara was beginning to need him. That was what she feared.

A/N

Okay guys. Don't worry. This little bump is just that, little. But I felt like they needed to get over it. So yeah. Please review!


	3. Never Again

DN 3 A/N

Woah thank you for all those reviews! Whovians are the best :)

Btw I won't be updating this frequently usually. It's just that I've been sick and had nothing to do. So yeah. Soz.

Anyway it's gonna get a bit more sad and stuff from now on, but still have an element of playfulness with Angie and Artie. And it's only for the next couple of chapters.

Enjoy!

Oh yeah. And I don't own Doctor Who. If I did, Donna would remember, Amy and Rory would still be alive and Whouffle would be fully established as canon. So, obviously I don't.

XXX

DOCTOR

The Doctor braced his arms against the TARDIS console, glaring down at the array of knobs and levers.

Get a hold of yourself, come on. You need to find out who she is. Why she is impossible.

He sighed. He had always had a weakness for the company of humanity, how they always surprised him with their humany-wumaniness. They made him feel human too, at least made him feel like he could have a place in the universe. He could never bear loneliness.

But he was arrogant, too. Blind. He was oblivious to his companions' own emotions, especially if they were like Clara. Keeping then hidden.

Get a grip. She's just a girl. Impossible, yes. But a girl. Someone clever and brave and kind who he could show the universe. Who could keep him company on his adventures among the stars.

Nothing more.

He was too attached. Much too attached. Today had made him realise that. He had grown too close to Clara. Everything ends. He would have to say goodbye someday. Just like he did with everyone else, eventually.

Maybe he should just stop. Just stop coming. Disappear into the universe where he could never follow and simply not turn up next Wednesday. Or any other Wednesday. Clara would be angry of course, she would hate him for it. Simply vanishing off into the swirling world of time and space with no trace left behind. But she would be safer then. Safe from him.

The Doctor was selfish. He always had been. And as he stepped around the console to send the TARDIS off somewhere on the other side of the galaxy, he tried to convince himself of the reason he was doing this. The reason he was abandoning Clara. He told himself it was to keep her away from danger, safe in the normal crawl of time in her quiet little English town, looking after the Maitlands.

In truth, he was deluding himself. He was selfish. The real reason he was leaving was in his own heart. The deep loneliness and longing in there, the growing relationship with Clara. His impossible girl.

Maybe if he left now he would never have to say it. Never have to go through it. He could come back any time he wished, so maybe it wouldn't hurt him.

The Doctor was selfish. He wasn't leaving. He was running away. Running away from goodbye.

•••

ARTIE

Artie didn't think that the plan had worked.

In fact, he thought it may even have backfired.

Clara was sitting at the dining room table, staring blankly at her now fixed laptop. The Doctor was gone.

"Clara?" Artie stepped into the room. "Is the Doctor here? He was going to play chess with me."

Clara looked up, hurriedly wiping her cheek with the back of a hand.

"Are you okay, Clara?" Artie asked carefully. He was only nine, but he knew when someone had been crying. He had done it enough in his life.

"I'm fine, Artie. Just thinking about-about mum. The Doctor's gone. He-uh, something came up."

Artie nodded. "Can you ask him if he'll come back again to play chess? I want to get better for the competition next week."

"Sure." her voice was empty and clipped, not its usual bright tone.

Artie left Clara at the table, where she was still staring aimlessly into space.

"Angie?" he knocked on the door of his sister's room. She answered immediately.

"Yeah? What happened? Is the Doctor still here?"

"No. He left. And I don't think the plan worked. Like, at all. I mean, Clara was crying, I think."

"What, really? She never cries."

"I know. She said it was about her mum though, so..." Artie trailed off. He still had trouble saying that word. "And didn't you hear them before? I think Clara was yelling at him. But he didn't yell back."

"We need to know what's going on between them. I mean, the Doctor's a pretty strange friend. And he's probably a secret agent. We need to know who he is."

Artie nodded. Sometimes with Angie it was best just to smile and agree, no matter how much he though they should stay out of Clara's business.

"We'll have to investigate further when he comes around next. Now get out of my room."

Artie obliged with a glare and walked out and back down the stairs. He glanced into the dining room, but Clara was no longer there.

He wandered over into the lounge, where he saw her. She was sitting on the window seat, curled up to the glass where drops of rain spilled erratically down the pane, gazing up at the sky.

•••

DOCTOR

The Doctor sat on a cold stone wall in 18th century Scotland, wrapped in a purple coat and top hat. Snow drifted lazily to settle upon his shoulders, but he ignored the cold that seeped into his skin.

He was sitting next to an abandoned paddock just outside a little country town, somewhere slow and boring. Usually not his style, but the Doctor was not in the mood for interesting today.

He couldn't go back. He couldn't. Clara had made it clear how she thought of herself in his life. A flicker of a bonfire. Nothing.

He could see how she thought that, why she thought that. His life had been so long and so full with all the little corners of the universe, the little wonders and dangers and miracles. It was easy to get lost in all those memories.

But he never forgot his companions. Not ever. They were the best of him, the people he chose, or the people who chose him. The people who came with him to go and see the wonders of the universe and save galaxies over and over again.

They made him feel human. All that basic goodness, the emotions, the sense of right and wrong that is at the heart of humanity transferred onto him. That was how he stayed sane.

The Doctor had caused the death of so, so many. Entire planets, entire races. He was the last of his own. Many had gone mad experiencing much less than what he had. One day, maybe he would crack. Turn from a god to a demon. It would be so easy.

His companions were what stopped him. They preserved the goodness in him, they kept him sane.

But, in return, he changed their lives forever. Maybe the journey was full of wonders and adventures, but, in the end, he always changed them for the worse. Tainted them, maybe. Hurt them. Trapped them away from their lives, their families. Even caused their deaths.

That was not a bargain he was willing to make. Not for Clara.

Not for her.

The Doctor stood up and brushed himself down, stepping through the snow to where the TARDIS was parked. His feet sank into the ground, the snow seeming to swallow his feet. He pushed the TARDIS door open and was greater by the familiar blue green light of the console room.

"Alright." he whispered to himself. "Off to see the universe. Alone."

This was just like he planned, really. After Manhattan. But then he met Clara in Victorian London, and she was so stubbornly beautiful with her cleverness and her bravery. So he bent the rules. For her. For Clara.

And then she died. Just as Oswin did in the dalek asylum. Clara. Oswin. They were the same.

But he found her again, she impossibly called him across centuries about a problem with her wifi. The impossible girl, twice dead. He told himself that was the only reason he was taking her with him, to find out who she was. But he had grown to attached to her, too close. Just like everyone else. Everyone he lost.

Not again.

He pulled the main lever and twiddled some dials, setting a new destination.

2766 AD. The planet of Haleork, in the Granea constellation. Inhabited by a humanoid race obsessed with building skyscrapers. Plenty to see there. Shining buildings of glass and metal reaching far into the clouds. There was even one that shimmered in a rainbow when reflected by the afternoon sun.

The Doctor could not help but imagine the awed look that would settle on Clara's face if she saw it, the rays of a million colours glowing against a backdrop of a deep purple sky. Beautiful.

But, of course, he would not see it again.

A/N

So that's the chapter. Please review! I love your reviews!


	4. Stranded

A/N so for some reason when I updated with chapter 3 this story didn't automatically go onto the front page of the doctor who archive (no idea why) so I didn't get many views or anything. Hope it doesn't stuff up again this time. So if you saw this on the top of the archive, can you please maybe just tell me? Because I'm not exactly sure if it will work. So yeah. Thanks guys.

XXX

CLARA

Clara curled up under her sheets as the sun poked rudely through the window. She buried her head under the blankets as her mind shook off the daze of sleep.

Today was a school day. So she would have to hurry the kids to get ready for the day (always a hassle), drive them to school, do the shopping and the laundry, pick then up from school, get Angie ready for tennis practice, get Artie ready for soccer, and drive them both back to the school. And on top of that, she had a headache.

The sun glared through the sheets, and Clara finally gave up. She dragged herself out of bed and into the ensuite shower. After dressing, she went down the hall the get Angie up. Since she became a teenager, she had developed a habit of sleeping in to the afternoon hours if not woken.

Once she had seen the kids off to school and was back at the house, alone, Clara finally glanced at the clock. The headache was still pounding against her forehead, and she felt she deserved a lie down.

9:23. Wednesday the 13th.

Wednesday.

Clara felt her stomach sink to her toes. She whole heartedly regretted what she had said to the Doctor. She wished she could take it back. Though that didn't mean she hadn't meant it, at least a little.

She wondered if he would even turn up. Maybe he would, and they would just go along as if nothing had happened. But then maybe he wouldn't come at all.

Clara went through her normal daily activities as efficiently as possible, trying to keep her mind on the work. She failed. Every boring everyday task felt even more painstaking, she couldn't help daydreaming about those amazing worlds buried deep in the infinite universe, waiting to be discovered. The ones the Doctor had showed to her.

The hours passed, Clara picked Angie and Artie up from school and dropped them off at sport practice. She sat around the house reading and trying not to worry. She brought this upon herself. She said what should never have be said. She let her emotions get the better of her. Something she had not done for a very long time.

•••

DOCTOR

The Doctor swung open the TARDIS door, expecting to look upon the awe inspiring towers of Haleork with a setting sun casting orange light across the skyline.

Instead, he was greeted by the last place in the entire universe that he wanted to be.

The Maitland house.

The TARDIS jolted, sending him sprawling onto the pavement. The door swung shut behind him.

"Oi! What are you doing!"

He jumped up and yanked on the door. It wouldn't budge.

"Oh no, no, no!" he groaned. "Come on! This is not the time!"

A familiar whirring echoed through the air and the blue wood of the TARDIS began fading under his pounding fists.

"Oi you! Come back! Don't you dare run off on me here!"

But the TARDIS disappeared with one last whirr, leaving the Doctor standing on the pavement.

He couldn't repress the frustrated stomp or angry cry that escaped him. This was the last place in the universe that he wanted to be. And now he was stranded here.

The Doctor rummaged in his coat pockets, searching for something, anything. But no. His sonic and psychic paper were in his other jacket. All that was in this one was a banana and an ace of spades. Very helpful.

He stood outside the house for quite a long time, watching the spot where his TARDIS had been. She had done this. She was always getting him into trouble, she always had her own plan. A mind of her own.

He knew why she had done this. She never really wanted him to be alone. Because when he was alone, he changed. From a god to a demon. It was so easy to stop trying to be better than those he fought. Without the company of humanity, with their basic decency and emotion and compassion, he could forget about trying to always work for good. He could sink down to the level of his enemies just to bring them to justice. He had killed so many, but without his companions he would have killed so many more.

It was a horrible choice to have to make. Lose his morality, or lose those he loved. Enough to make anyone go mad.

Wasn't there an old earth saying, to have loved and lost is better than to never have loved at all?

A false saying, though. Untrue. It was brilliant, while it lasted. He always loved showing them the universe, seeing the awe on their faces. All the good, beautiful things about them. Clara had many of those.

The Doctor looked up at the house. Took a deep breath.

And stepped into the driveway.

•••

CLARA

Clara was just beginning to nod off over her book when the doorbell rang.

It was a soft ring, if such a thing is possible, quick and short. As if whoever was at the door was more than hesitant to come in.

She got up from the couch and looked down the hallway, then stopped short.

There, behind the frosted glass, was a familiar silhouette. Tall and lanky, slightly hunched shoulders, flicked over hair, long tailed coat.

It was the Doctor.

Clara stood in the hall for much longer than was necessary before she stepped forward to put her hand on the doorknob.

The Doctor stood there, on the other side. Waiting.

She opened the door.

"Hello." the Doctor said, his voice attempting to be bright and casual.

"Hello." Clara studied his shoes. Come on. Face him. Look at him. You did this.

She lifted her head. He was looking at her with a tight, blank expression, his eyes unreadable. But she knew everything from the way he clenched his jaw, and the way his hair was ruffled as if he'd been running his fingers through it in angst.

"What are you doing here?" she kept her tone light.

"It's a Wednesday."

Clara didn't answer. He sighed.

"The TARDIS, she dropped me off here, and disappeared. I'm not sure when she's going to come back."

Clara waited.

"Can I-can I possibly... Stay here?" he winced as he finished the sentence as if he though she was going to slap him.

"I- I guess so." Clara answered. Because he could, the house was huge, with two spare bedrooms. George had always made her feel at home there, and told her that she was free to let friends stay in a spare room if she ever so wished. And George was staying in London for business for the next week at least.

It wasn't like she could refuse. He really was her friend. More than a friend really, someone who showed her the universe. She could let him stay here for a few days.

"Really?" he sounded genuinely surprised.

"Course. You're a friend aren't you?" Clara felt safer if she just ignored the events of a few days ago. He seemed to be disregarding them too, at least he wasn't mentioning what she had said.

"You-you have a spare room, right? I don't have to-" the Doctor went red. It really was quite amusing to see him embarrassed.

"Not unless you're into that, Doctor? I had a spare room in mind but I really didn't realize you were that keen-"

"No no!" he blurted. "The spare room! Just-shut up!"

Clara smiled as he stepped into the threshold. Maybe they could forget about it. Maybe it would just stay buried in the past. Forgotten. Inconsequential.

But then later, as she was showing the Doctor his room, she caught him looking at her out of the corner of her vision. And his eyes were no longer just old and sad. They were pained.

A/N

Aw poor Doctor. Don't you ever just want to hug him and tell him to stop hating himself because he's so old and kind and sweet and sad and just awwwwwww? Cos I do.

Aaaaanyway, hope you liked it. Please leave your thoughts in a review my lovely little fellow whovians!


	5. Gotcha

DN 5

So it worked, yay! It went onto the archives! Thank you for all your reviews everybody, really you are amazing. Seriously.

And it seems we all just want to give the Doctor a hug. It's a big club. Maybe we should get tshirts.

XXX

ANGIE

Angie trailed through the front door after Clara, lugging her tennis bag behind her. She dumped it by the stairs and followed Clara to the kitchen, determined to quiz her about the Doctor.

"So why is he called that anyway? The Doctor. Weird name don't you think?" she asked as Clara began setting out some ingredients for dinner.

"I don't know. He's just called that. Everyone calls him the Doctor." Clara avoids her eyes as she pours some pasta into a pot.

"Yeah, but Doctor who?"

"Ha ha!" a voice cried from the hallway. The Doctor leaped into the room. "You don't know how much I love it when people ask that."

"Doctor! Clara, you didn't say he was here!"

Clara made an unintelligible grunt.

"Well, I'm here, hey Angie! Back again!"

"But last time you were here, didn't Clara yell at you?"

All activity in the room stopped. Clara paused in her preparation of the pasta. The Doctor froze, his jaw tight.

"I'm home!" Artie's voice echoed down the corridor. He had been dropped home by a friend today, and Angie was more than grateful for the silence to be broken as Clara went to open the door.

The Doctor sat down at the kitchen table, his expression still clenched taut. As she left the room, she saw him put his head in his hands, his shoulders hunched protectively around himself.

There was something between those two. A gap. If she were to make them realise how much they both belonged together, she would need to help them bridge it.

This was more than a silly plan to make them get together. This was helping Clara to really live, to live how she wanted to before her life fell apart. Before she learned to keep her emotions in check. Just like Angie had.

Before her mother died.

XXX

DOCTOR

The Doctor set his eyes on the small stain in the kitchen table, hearing the conversation between Clara and Artie in the background of his thoughts. What was he doing here, really? Clara was different to all his other companions, she was dedicated to her life on earth. She had responsibilities, she had made promises. And though she wished more than anything to travel the worlds, experiencing amazing, unique things, she had a family that she couldn't leave.

Maybe, maybe, he was just a little jealous. A ridiculous idea of course, but maybe it was true.

Artie came bounding into the room.

"Hi Doctor!"

He stood up and clapped his hands together. "Hello Artie! Ready for some chess?"

"Yeah! I want to get good for the competition!"

"Right-io. Let's have a game!"

Artie led him into another room where a chess board was set up on the table.

"Beautiful set, if I don't say so." the Doctor studied the carved jade pieces, musky green and pearly white.

"Yeah...um, it was my mum's." Artie muttered.

The Doctor sat down at the table. "I'm sure your mum would be proud. Now, you're first I believe."

XXX

CLARA

Clara wandered into the living room, where she witnessed the Doctor and Artie heavily engrossed in a chess game.

"Yes!" Artie shouted, taking one of the Doctor's pawns and setting it on the side of the table. "Ha! I knew I could take one of yours!"

The Doctor smiled, and Clara could tell that he had let Artie have that one.

"So who's winning?" she went to stand by the table.

"He is." Artie pointed at his opponent. "He's actually really good at chess. Like, champion good."

The Doctor straightened his bow tie with a smug little look on his face as he studied the pieces.

Clara raised an eyebrow at him as he moved a knight right into the path of Artie's bishop. He shrugged at her.

"Ha! Bad move, Doctor!" Artie knocked the knight off the board. "Maybe I can win now!"

Clara seriously doubted the possibility of that.

Over the next three moves, the Doctor took both Artie's rooks and came perilously close to landing him in checkmate. Artie's mood fell, but he stayed hopeful.

The boy made a particularly badly judged move and the Doctor managed to take his queen.

"Now Artie, the basic thing you need to concentrate on in chess is anticipating your opponent's moves. You need to know how your move will affect the board, and how your opponent will take advantage of it."

Artie was a little put-out. "How do you know so much about chess?"

The Doctor sat up a little straighter and adjusted his bow tie again. "I'll have you know, the Time Lords invented- Blimey, is this going to be a habit of yours, Clara?"

She has stomped on his foot again. Usually the Doctor was aware of keeping his identity as a time traveling alien secret, but he seemed to forget about it when he got too comfortable.

"Anyway," he shot Clara a mock irritated frown. "I happen to be an expert chess player. I learnt from the best."

Clara rolled her eyes. "I'm rooting for Artie in the modesty sector." she deadpanned as she left the room.

XXX

ANGIE

"So, Clara. The Doctor. Who is he?"

Clara sighed. "I don't know. He's the Doctor."

"Yeah, but is he a secret agent? Where did you meet him? Why does he wear such weird clothes?"

"No he's just... He's a traveller. He goes around... Helping people. And yes, he has a strange taste in fashion."

"So do you like him?"

Clara narrowed her eyes at Angie. "I can tell what you two are doing."

Angie smirked. Avoiding the question.

"He's very nice isn't he? Smart. If a little eccentric. Cute too. How about that hair, huh?"

"Angie..." Clara warned.

"So you don't like him?"

"He's a friend. Alright?" Another vague answer.

"And yet he's the first person you've let come around to our house. What is he doing here anyway?"

"Well, he's um, he's..."

"Yes?" Angie prompted nonchalantly.

"He's had a problem with his house. There was a... Gas leak. He's asked if he can... Stay here for a bit. In the spare room."

"Ooh!"

"Oh hush. It's just for a couple of days."

"If you say. So is it that you don't like him, or you just don't want to?"

"I-what-no! Just-he's-" Clara stumbled for words, something rarely seen for her.

Gotcha. "Thanks, Clara. That was very informative."

She ignored Clara's witty little remarks that she shot back over her shoulder as she left the room, and smiled to herself.

Gotcha.

XXX

A/N haha. Gotcha Clara. :D

Hope you liked it! Please leave some feedback, you readers are just so nice! I love you reviewers! And I am not ashamed!


	6. Too Beautiful to Live

A/N helloooooooo readers!

Enjoy the next chapter! Please review, I really really appreciate your feedback! It just makes my day all the more bright.

(plus those who review get virtual hugs from the Doctor... Because he needs a hug)

•••

CLARA

Clara awoke to the faint sizzling of a frying pan and a distinct breakfast smell wafting up to her attic room. She attempted to return to the safe arms of sleep for a few minutes before reality hit her.

The Doctor.

The Doctor was here.

In her house.

Clara leaped out of bed and pulled on some clothes, running a brush through her hair before rushing down the stairs.

As she neared the kitchen, she smelt something cooking and heard the Doctor bounding around rattling plates and saucepans. She prepared herself for the worst.

The kitchen was an absolute mess. Pots and pans, spatulas, bowls were littered around the benches. Flour dusted the floor and remnants of eggshells were spread everywhere. The Doctor stood in the middle of it all, flipping some pancakes onto a plate.

"Morning, Clara!"

She rubbed the last of the sleep from her eyes. "Morning. Doctor, what are you doing?"

"Breakfast! Most important meal of the day! You need to have a good breakfast."

"You can cook?" Clara couldn't disguise the disbelief.

"Of course I can cook! I'm more than a thousand years old! And I learnt from the best. Did you know, I actually took part in the invention of ice cream? Interesting story there, full of paradoxes since I got the recipe from that Ramsay fellow in the year 2000 and of course I had to show it to those nice Chinese chefs, it was 622 AD and their cooking was oh so boring-"

"Doctor. The omelette's burning."

"That it is!" he spun around and whipped the saucepan off the stove before flipping the black mess onto a plate. "Oh well. We still have the pancakes."

He set out some plates that he fixed with a stack of thin pancakes, dusted with sugar and the juice of some strange purple fruit.

"What is that?"

"Oh this? Not sure exactly. Some sort of citrus-y fruit. Looks like it may be from one of Jupiter's moons, Kagglia, I believe, before it was destroyed by that meteor. Non toxic. And it tastes delicious."

Clara raised an eyebrow and was about to answer when Artie came bounding into the kitchen.

"Pancakes!" he exclaimed when he saw the layout of food.

Clara laughed as he dug enthusiastically into a plate of the Doctor's pancakes, and put one on a plate for herself.

The Doctor had such a sweet, expectant look on his face as she took her first bite that she couldn't help but tease him.

"I could have done better." she mused.

His face fell. "Oh. Well."

Clara smiled. "Oh shut up you thick head. They're the best things I've ever tasted!"

And they really were. They were sweet and warm and seemed to melt on her tongue, and the juice of that purple fruit added just the right amount of tang and flavour.

The Doctor broke out in a wide smile as Artie also sang his praises.

That smile, that purely joyful, innocent smile, was something Clara loved to see. In her experience, she had realised that the saddest, loneliest people smiled the least, meaning that when they did it was worth much more. The Doctor was the saddest, loneliest person she had ever encountered. And his smile was like the birth of a golden sun.

•••

ANGIE

"Angie, can you just get the mail? There's a little... Dilemma here in the kitchen and I think the mailman just went by."

Angie sighed and pulled out her earphones. She always had to ask just as she was getting comfortable.

"Fine." she muttered and headed for the door.

As she was walking down the path to the mailbox she saw something out of the ordinary in the corner of her eye. The bush.

It was an average, green plant, was trimmed once a month and always stayed the same size. Not anymore. Now, it was dominating the front yard, the size of an old oak tree, and reached above the roof of the house.

"Claraaa!" Angie called inside. "What the hell is this?!"

She heard Clara's faint reply. "What is it? And I think your dad wants you to stop saying that word."

"I think the situation calls for it! There's a gigantic bush in the front yard!"

"What?" After a few seconds, Clara came out from the house, the Doctor hot on her heels. "This better be important Angie, I think the oven's still smoking..."

"Just look at that!"

Clara stopped and turned. "Doctor," she said in a clipped voice. "Do you happen to have anything to do with this."

"Erm. I may have." he fiddled with his bow tie.

Clara raised her eyebrows at him. "May?"

"Alright, alright. I may have tried to optimize the photosynthesis in that plant. Honestly, it was looking a little sick and wasn't getting enough sun so-"

Clara's eyebrows rose higher than Angie could have thought anatomically possible.

"Yes, okay, I went a bit overboard. I can fix it... Somehow."

"You better, chin boy. I don't want George coming home from his business trip to see the house engulfed by a plant."

"No. No. I'll just, ah..." the Doctor pulled out his little buzzing tool and pointed it at the bush. "If I can set the frequency to affect the chloroplast cells... No no that's not right..."

Looking at the Doctor and Clara standing together, a little closer than friends normally would (not that they realised), Angie had an idea. As Clara went around inspecting the other plant to see if they had mutated overnight, she leaned over to the Doctor and whispered in his ear.

He was puzzled for a second. "Why would I- oh! Oh! I get it."

Angie rolled her eyes. Really, he seemed Einstein-level smart, but was quite thick when it came to things like this.

Suddenly, the bush shrank into normal size and sprouted several purple flowers. Angie smiled.

"Oh!" Clara breathed beside her. "How-how-those are irises!"

A smug smile spread across the Doctor's face. "Your favourite, aren't they?"

"Well, yes, wow, how did you..."

"You like them?"

Clara spun around and narrowed her eyes at him. "You naughty boy. Irises are bulbs. They can't grow on bushes. How am I going to explain this to George?"

The Doctor shifted his eyes and pulled at his bow tie. "Er, well..."

"Doctor, Doctor." Clara rolled her eyes a little, but Angie could she was amused and a little pleased. Though she would never admit it.

•••

DOCTOR

The Doctor was sitting at the kitchen table, fiddling with the leftover parts of the toaster. Or, that's what he told himself he was doing. Because really, he was just watching Clara.

She was hovering about the kitchen, peering into the oven and rechecking the recipe again and again.

She had a right to be jumpy, of course, as their attempt to bake a soufflé earlier resulted in blackened oven and blaring smoke alarm.

She was wringing her hands every so often, and her eyes were flicking from oven to recipe book repeatedly. Her beautiful brown eyes. Sparkling with spirit and intelligence and a fire that warmed even him, somehow could melt his thousand year old heart.

He caught himself and went back to the bits of toaster. Stop thinking about her. She's just a girl, an impossible girl. An enigma. A mystery. Clever, yes. Brave, yes. A companion. A friend. Nothing more. No more.

He had already invested too much in her, and his attempt to run away, to keep her safe, to keep himself from having to say goodbye once again, had failed. The TARDIS had made sure of that. Sometimes the old girl was too smart, too alive for her own good.

A bell rang sharply through the air and the Doctor jolted.

"Aha!" he shouted and leapt up. "It's ready!"

He went over to Clara where she was staring dubiously at the oven. It looked ready enough to him, so he reached for the handle.

"No Doctor, it's-"

Too late. He had already pulled open the door. The soufflé sank into a drippy mess.

"Oh. Yes."

"Exactly."

"We can make another, right? Can't let this one tactical boo boo halt your soufflé dreams?"

"Guess not." Clara, somehow, smiled, that beautiful warming smile that made her eyes shine. "Too beautiful to live, it was."

"Yes," the Doctor agreed, still caught up in the glow of her expression as she looked at the failed soufflé. "Too beautiful to live."

A/N AAAH! Doctor you daft old man. You're in love with her goddammit! Admit it to yourself!

Well I can't really yell at him. I wrote him. (Damn you mind)

So please drop me a line. And farewell until the next chapter! :)


	7. Operation: First Date

A/N so here is chapter... Whatever number this is. Thank you so much for all the reviews! Really, I love you guys!

Enjoy and keep being awesome with the feedback!

P.S

Who do you think will be good for the twelfth doctor? It's hard for me to even speculate because I am so attached to Matt. But just wondering what you guys think. Do you want a female Doctor? Any specific ideas? Whatever really. I personally would prefer them to pluck someone from obscurity, like they did with Matt. Then it's like a boost, instead of a burden for the actor to carry, and we get to see someone new who hasn't really made a name for themselves yet. What do you think?

•••

ARTIE

The small boy studied the neat flow chart his sister had drawn out for him. It was titled "Operation Clara/Doctor" and included all the steps Angie had planned out to make the two 'fall in love'.

Step 1: get the Doctor to, consciously or subconsciously, admit his feelings for Clara. (This one was ticked)

Step 2: get Clara to, consciously or subconsciously, admit her feelings for the Doctor. (There was a tick and a little note beside this one, that read 'good enough')

Step 3: get the Doctor to do something nice for Clara that normal boyfriends do. E. her flowers. (This one was double ticked)

Step 4: get the Doctor to take Clara out on a date. (This was where they had arrived on the chart.)

"A date?" Artie asked. "But haven't they already done that? They go somewhere every Wednesday."

Angie rolled her eyes. She did that to him a lot. He thought that one day she'd roll her eyes into the back of her skull.

"That's not a real date, dummy, that's just them going out as friends."

"Then what's a real date?"

"It's where they go to the movies or ice skating or something and they do coupley things like holding hands and stuff."

Artie was skeptical. "And how are we supposed to get them to do that?"

Angie rolled her eyes again. "This is why I'm the one in charge."

"Also because I'm only a reluctant participant."

"Whatever. Just be your dorky self and I'll do the work."

"Hey! I'm not-"

"Sure you are. Again, that's why I'm the one in charge."

•••

CLARA

The sky was swirling with a grey rage, a tempest was slowly building on the eastern horizon. Rain had already started to sprinkle down to earth, and Clara could hear the echoes of thunder in the distance.

She could also hear the clinking of metal and the whirring of a sonic screwdriver, the Doctor reworking yet another household appliance to his wishes. Over the past two days he had upgraded the microwave, the CD player and the television, rebuilt the toaster from pieces of metal he found in the garage, and adjusted his newly invented quadrocycle to respond to neural messages.

He was restless, always jumping around and could never sit still for longer than a few minutes. He was like a child, but she supposed that he had lived his whole life with the whole of existence before him, and now it had been temporarily taken away.

"Claraaa..." Angie called from the doorway. "It's going to rain, maybe we can go to the cinema?"

Her voice sounded too light, too innocent. "I suppose we can. What do you want to see?"

"Oh there's this new one that Artie and I really want to watch, so can we go? Please?"

Clara sighed. "Fine. Just don't tell your dad."

Fifteen minutes later, Clara, the Doctor, Angie and Artie were standing in the line for the ticket box at the cinema.

"So what movie is it?" she nudged Angie.

"The new Harry Potter one."

Clara nodded. She wouldn't deny that she also enjoyed Harry Potter. Who didn't?

"Oh, not that one. Don't tell me it's number seven?" the Doctor said.

"It is." Artie piped up. "The last one ever!"

"Oh, but it's so sad. I cried."

Clara felt a smile tug at her lips. The Doctor, crying about a fantasy book? She couldn't help but laugh a little.

"Oi, don't tell me that it wasn't sad. I'm allowed to cry. I mean, Dobby died!"

"I didn't cry." she countered.

"Well, you're a girl of steel. Did you not think about all those goodbyes that were said on that day? All those people that died?"

"Hey! I didn't know that Dobby died!" Artie said indignantly.

"Oops, sorry. Never was good at the spoilers thing." the Doctor patted him on the shoulder. "You'll cry."

Clara noticed that Angie was no longer standing next to her, she was up at the front of the line talking to one of the people who were handing out the tickets.

She watched as Angie pointed towards her and the Doctor, and the two exchanged a few more words before Angie returned to Clara's side.

"What were you doing?"

"I- I was just asking what the movie was rated. You know how dad goes nuts if Artie watches anything too scary and has nightmares."

Clara was dubious. Why would Angie bother to ask about that? Usually she wouldn't care in the slightest if Artie got frightened.

"Next!" called of the women at the counter, coincidently the one that Angie had talked to.

"Uh, four tickets to the 11:50 of Harry Potter, please."

Clara didn't miss the amused look on the woman's face as she studied her and the Doctor, before casting a snide glance at Angie. "I'm afraid there are only two seats left for that screening."

"Oh. Is there another one soon?"

"No, not until 5."

"Oh-" Clara was about to suggest that they just go and get ice cream or something and go home before Angie interrupted.

"That's okay. Me and Artie will go. I'm old enough."

"But-"

"Oh come one Clara. It's just a couple of hours. Go do something with the Doctor while we're in the movie."

Clara sighed. Angie was old enough, she was responsible. And the two of them did really want to see the movie. "Fine." she handed over the money for two tickets. "Just look after Artie. We'll meet you back here as soon as the movie's done."

"Yes! Thanks Clara!" Angie took the tickets and pulled Artie off with her to the cinema entrance. "Why don't you and the Doctor go and have some fun!"

Clara scowled. That Angie. This was just another of her little schemes. She had told the woman at the counter to lie about the number of seats available, just to get her and the Doctor to go out alone together.

But the Doctor was oblivious to this. "For the best, I suppose. Don't really want to cry in front of an entire cinema of people.

"Hm."

They had begun walking down the footpath, quite aimlessly. Neither Clara nor the Doctor were talking, the former was thinking madly about how the Doctor had subconsciously taken her hand in his, and the latter was gazing around at the trees and passing people.

The silence was not awkward, nor was it intrusive. It was, quite simply, that little gap between the conversation of two people who knew each other very well, of two people who trusted each other.

Clara trusted the Doctor more than anyone she has ever met, but, truthfully, she doubted even him sometimes.

They had come upon a small park, and Clara recognised it as the one just around the corner from her old house. She had come here almost daily when she was little, always tugging at her mother's arm to go over to the monkey bars, or the merry go round, or the swings.

The Doctor got a funny look on his face as he scrutinized the park, as if he, too, had been there before.

He shook it away and looked down to smile at Clara. "Swings! I love swings!" he exclaimed, pulling he along to the swing set.

Clara laughed as the Doctor sat in one of the swings and began swaying back and forth. "Aren't you a little old for the swings?"

"A little old? Yes, definitely. Much too old." She saw his eyes darken for just a moment. "But why should that stop me?"

Clara laughed again, the sound bubbling from deep inside her. The Doctor was the only one who could make her laugh so. At least, since her mother had died.

"Watch this." he assumed a serious expression as he swung harder and faster, rising up and falling back. At the peak of a particularly high swing, he leapt off, flailing his arms as he fell, to come to a skidding stop on the tanbark.

The Doctor lost his balance on contact with the ground and tripped over his own feet, jumping around for a second before attempting to cover it up with an arms up "ta da" movement.

Clara couldn't help but burst into another round of laughter. The Doctor smiled, his old eyes brightening. She loved these moments. The moments when she could manage to somehow make this sad, ancient man happy, even just for a second.

"So shall we carry on, then?" the Doctor held out his arm to her olden-day-style and she slid her arm through his, now smiling not simply from amusement but from the innocently joyful look on his features.

But then she remembered.

_"We're all ghosts to you."_


	8. It Isn't a Ghost Story

A/N I am really excited about this chapter. It took me ages to write, but I think I got it! It's a little short, sorry, but I'm sure you will all forgive me once you have read it. :)

As always, big big big thank you to all my reviewers! I love you'

•••

"There it is again."

He had seen it. He had caught flickers of it before, but Clara was always one to guard her emotions, never broadcasting them to the world. But, this time, he had clearly seen that little change. The moment when a glow built in her eyes, and then suddenly winked out.

"What was that, chin boy?" Clara said harshly.

"Er, nothing." he had definitely not meant to say that out loud.

"Good." Clara snapped, but the Doctor saw that her eyes were troubled, in conflict with her rough tone.

"Actually, no. Not nothing."

Clara's head whipped up.

"Please, Clara." the words finally came, the ones he had wanted to say so many times, but didn't. "Please. Talk to me."

He watched as her eyes flicked up to the sky, gazing up at the clouds.

"Doctor, why are you here?"

This question. This question always popped up at one time or another. Why he chose them, why he was there. But Clara asking it bothered him more than for anyone else, shouldn't she know? Wasn't it obvious? Couldn't she see?

No. Of course she couldn't. He had done all he could to make her not see.

"This is about the other day, isn't it?" was all he could ask.

"Of course it is. I know you haven't forgotten. I couldn't. So answer the question." Clara snapped, her eyes were burning with a cold pain and the yearning for answers to questions he dreaded.

"The TARDIS dropped me off here and disappeared, I told you-"

"You know what I mean."

The Doctor sighed, and even to him the sound was deep and old and sad. He didn't want to tell her. He didn't want to admit he was a selfish coward. "I wasn't going to come back."

He looked away from her at that moment, not wishing to see her reaction.

"I didn't really expect you to tell the truth." So she knew. Of course she knew. She was Clara. Clever, impossible Clara. "So you were going to leave, just like that? Not even a goodbye? And for what reason?"

"I-I..."

"What, were you scared? To cowardly to face-"

"Yes I was scared! I couldn't do it! You don't- you can't..."

He took a deep breath, feeling it shudder through his chest. "I've always hated goodbyes. I've lost people, so many, and before I met you I thought that I would never have to say goodbye again. I thought I could avoid coming close to anyone. But I couldn't. Not for you. And then I realised that I would have to say goodbye to you, someday. I thought it would be easier if I just left without one. I thought maybe it wouldn't hurt."

He took another breath.

"Clara, is that true? Everything you said? Do you really think that you are so insignificant to me?"

"You know, you really can be daft. You are a time traveling alien, God knows how old, who has seen things I cannot even imagine. You can visit any moment of existence, wherever and whenever you choose. To everyone else you are a god, or a demon. And you know that, you find it so hard to bear." She caught his wide eyed look. "Yes, I've noticed. And you know all the secrets of the universe, have knowledge which only you have to suffer through. You have seen the stretch of infinite time. So tell me, how can we be anything but ghosts to a man like you?"

The Doctor managed to look back at Clara, who was looking straight at him. Her eyes were strong and fierce, as always.

"You don't- you don't understand-" his voice was low and his eyes were turned down the the table.

"I think I do."

She didn't. She could never understand.

"Clara. You must know, I am not a good man. In truth, I have done evil things. I have killed many, I have destroyed worlds. In a universal war of good against evil, it is very hard not to sink to the level of your enemies. Sometimes the injustices of everything, all the battles, the sadness, the hate, the deaths... It becomes too much.

"You, Clara, and all the others who have travelled with me before... You are the best of me. You are human, such an inherently good and just and passionate race. Your first instinct is to show mercy, even to those who don't deserve it. And I need that, I am selfish. You keep me good. You keep me sane. You keep me from becoming anything but the Doctor. Without you, I would have worse names than the Oncoming Storm, or the Predator. With you, I am the Doctor. A healer. A helper. You are the best of me.

"And... To tell the truth, it's not just that. You aren't just a companion, someone to travel through time with. You're Clara. You're my Clara. And you are so much more than just a ghost."

It was so hard to keep gazing into her eyes, but he forced himself to. He had to show her how important she really was.

Because Clara had been right about many things. He was old, he was wounded, he was pained. And he didn't think that he could live on if she was gone.

"You're not a ghost." he repeated, lifting his fingers to brush her cheek. He had found himself touching her unnecessarily like this several times before, holding her hand or stroking her hair. But this was the first time he was consciously reaching for her, and this time it was just to keep her there. To make sure that she would not go.

"You're my Clara."

And, just like that, his arms were tight around her small frame and he was pressing his cheek to her hair.

And the pressing anxiety, the weight of uncertainty and dread and loss and fear, danced away. All he could think was that Clara was here, she was right here with him. And she wasn't going anywhere.

They didn't really break apart at all, and when they began to walk out of the park and through the streets of the town the Doctor's arm was still wrapped around Clara's shoulders.

They wandered around, squinting through shop windows and peering down alleyways for anything of interest. They didn't really talk, it was if they had both said everything they had wanted to say and didn't need to say anymore.

The Doctor found a suit store and dragged Clara inside with him, heading straight to the extensive rack of bow ties. He selected a few and held them up to her, and she shook her head and laughed silently.

They weren't that outrageous. Just a few polka dots. But Clara seemed to find them totally hilarious.

He rummaged through the selection again before finding the perfect thing. It was a king among bow ties, and a precise shade of deep blue. He tied it under his collar and spun around to face Clara again.

She smiled then. And it was beautiful.

As he looked at her in that moment, her face glowing with pure joy and amusement and life, all that Clara was, the Doctor felt that he would very much like to kiss her.

He didn't, of course. But he was thinking about his Clara, so clever and funny and fiery and perfect.

He lifted a hand to rest it on her cheek, looking into those beautiful shining eyes. And then Clara leant forward, and suddenly his lips were on hers, ever so softly, in the middle of the suit shop.

It was just a touch, just for a second. Barely anything.

But, at the same time, it was everything.

_"It isn't a ghost story, it's a love story."_


	9. A Braver Man

A/N so I was thinking about all you wonderful readers and this story. And I had a realisation. I can do whatever I like with the Doctor and Clara. Whatever I like. Anything. I could make them get together officially. I could make them get married for god's sake (though I'm not going to, doesn't seem to fit with the characters). I could traumatise one or both. I could rip them apart in the most violent and depressing way imaginable. I could kill Clara off and have the Doctor cry despairingly over her body as all his thousand years lose their meaning. (Calm down calm down- it's not going to happen!)

And I felt so powerful.

And then I realized something else. This is how Moffat feels. I FINALLY UNDERSTAND.

Moving on, I am going away on holidays for the next week or so, so no updates for that time sorry. I wrote this up as quick as I could to give you one last chapter before I go.

As always, huge thank you to the reviewers. YOU ARE ALL AMAZING! ASDFGHJKL GOD YOU BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE I LOVE YOU LIKE THE DOCTOR LOVES CLARA EXCEPT NO NOT REALLY I JUST WANT TO BE FRIENDS AND THE DOCTOR AND CLARA ARE DEFINITELY NOT FRIENDS.

Okay yeah anyway enjoy the chapter.

•••

ANGIE

Pulling on Artie's arm, Angie threaded through the crowd into the foyer. Standing on her toes to peer over the jumble of people, she failed to spot the familiar faces of the Doctor and Clara.

"Come on." she said to Artie, who was still looking forlorn in the aftermath of Dobby's death. "We have to find them."

But though she searched every corner of the foyer, waited til most everyone had vacated it and it would have been impossible not to spot them, they were not there.

Angie sighed. "Hopefully this means that our plan worked a little too well."

"So, what do we do?" her brother's voice was small and worried.

"We look for them. Come on." she went outside onto the footpath, dragging Artie behind, both of them blinking in the sudden daylight. "Where would they have gone?"

"We could try the forest." Artie suggested quietly. "Clara always loves going there in autumn."

"Wow, Artie, I am shocked. A legitimate, intelligent suggestion."

"Shut up."

Angie smirked. "Let's go."

They walked quickly through the streets, Angie rolling her eyes at Artie's skittishness.

Soon they came to the park, which backed onto the forest spreading across the eastern side of town. They stopped before the trees, flaming with golden leaves.

Bordering the path before them, that twisted into the woods, were a few trees that merged into the main forest. Snagged on one of the branches was a dark purple thread.

Angie laughed. "Artie! Our plan worked!" And she grabbed his arm and they ran into the woods.

•••

CLARA

Clara had always loved the forest. It was a small section of land the council had put aside as a sort of sanctuary for local flora and fauna, but she always thought of it as a sanctuary for her, too.

Autumn was her favourite time of the year, when a chill forever bit at your toes and rain would clear away the groggy summer air until the atmosphere was crisp with the scent of winter. The leaves would turn golden, and then crinkle into fiery red, before falling from the trees in scatters of warm brown. It reminded her of her mother, too, this season. She had loved autumn as well, and whenever a leaf drifted to the ground before her she always thought of how she and her father had met. How she came to be. That leaf. The most important leaf in the universe.

She couldn't say exactly why she took the Doctor to the woods. Maybe it was because of this sentimental value, maybe it was because he was always showing her beautiful things and now she wanted to show him her own beautiful place, or maybe it was because she just wanted somewhere quiet to be with him. Whatever the reason, now they were both treading along the dirt path, their footsteps crinkling with the fallen leaves. The sun shone through the gaps in the trees above, glinting down in golden shafts of light. Birds sung their echoing songs to the cold air. It was beautiful.

And she thought the Doctor thought so too.

The innocently happy smile that curled up his lips and the glint that shone in his old, dark eyes seemed to warm the very atmosphere. She couldn't believe how such a sad, ancient man could be so purely joyful. It reminded her of a saying she had once heard, she thought she remembered her father saying it: "The loneliest people are the kindest. The saddest people smile the brightest. The most damaged people are the wisest. All because they do not wish to see anyone else suffer the way they do."

This man was the loneliest, saddest, most damaged person she had ever met. But then he was also the kindest, wisest and had the brightest smile.

She still could not believe the happenings of the past few hours with him. She had yelled at him, argued with him, heard him spill his deepest thoughts and secrets, hugged him, laughed at him, and... kissed him. Yes. There was that, too. And that was the tricky bit.

She had sworn to herself. She had made a promise. Don't fall in love. Don't fall in love. And she had succeeded in that respect, at least for a while. But then she had shouted all the troubled thoughts of her mind at him, all the reasons for her not to fall in love. Asked him why.

And today he had answered her. Today she had broken her promise.

But she didn't care.

So when they stopped before a towering oak tree, Clara smiled as the Doctor took her hand. She leaned toward him a little, as he rested his head on top of hers. She was still gazing up through the leaves at the top of the oak when he settled his arm around her shoulders, but she could see him looking at her out of the corner of her eye.

So she simply enjoyed the comforting feel of his arm over her shoulders, and reveled in the warm glow emanated by his happiness.

It was times like this that she really loved. When she could manage to make that sad, old man actually smile.

•••

DOCTOR

No matter what he did, the Doctor could not lessen the goofy smile on his face. Nor did he particularly want to, it had been a long long time since he had felt this level of happiness. It was nice to feel it again.

So he watched Clara watching the whispering autumn leaves, thinking about how a braver man would kiss her right now. But in this situation, the Doctor was not that braver man.

He heard a strange rustle in the trees, something unnatural. But it couldn't be anything, could it? And he really didn't want to move from Clara's side right now. In fact he though he could probably stay like this for hours on end.

"Oo-oooh!"

The Doctor and Clara jumped apart, spinning around to face Angie and Artie at the edge of the clearing.

"Clara and the Doctor, sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G!" Artie chorused.

"What, no, I, we-" the Doctor stammered

"Oh shut up, Doctor. You aren't-" Clara began.

"FIRST COMES LOVE. THEN COME MARRIAGE. THEN COMES-"

"Artie!"

Artie smiled. "Yes, Clara?"

"You-just-stop...we're not..."

The Doctor nudged Clara, whispering, "Not much better than me, are you?"

"Oh shut up! Both of you! Oh let's just go home." she snapped before heading back down the path with Artie skipping along behind.

The Doctor followed through the trees, still unable to wipe the smile off his face.

He heard a laugh as Angie popped up beside him. "Don't even try to deny it anymore. It's so obvious it's hilarious!" she told him.

"Sorry, what's obvious?" he tried to play the ignorance card.

"Oh don't play dumb. Just kiss her already!" Angie laughed before running ahead to where Artie was, leaving the Doctor to the trees and his thoughts.

The leaves whispered in the slight wind, talking in a language unknown to all but their own. But they seemed to be trying to say something to him.

He nodded to himself, and whispered to the shivering trees, "If I were a braver man."

•••

A/N I apologize profusely for any little mistakes in this. I haven't checked it properly and I just wanted to get it out before I leave. Hope you liked it and don't forget to review please! See you in a week everyone!


	10. Lost and Found

A/N Hey guys! I'm baaaack!

Thank you so so so so much for all of your reviews. Just... You are SO FREAKING AWESOME I LOVE YOU IN A NON SEXUAL WAY!

Anyway... omg guys did you watch the matt smith farewell vid? I did. And it WAS ELEVEN AT NIGHT EVERYONE WAS ASLEEP I CRIED ALL ALONE LIKE THE DOCTOR HAHAHAHAHA *SOB*

Moving on, I hope you all like the chapter! Please forgive my emotions. :)

•••

The echoing boom of thunder shook the panes of the house, lightning networking through the sky a moment later. The rain began to pummel the tiles of the roof with a renewed force, a roar of water in the angry symphony of a thunderstorm.

The harsh sound of the doorbell cut insistently into the deep thrum, shrilly crying out in ring after ring. Clara reluctantly rose from her place on the window seat- where she had been watching the sky and the Doctor and pretending to read- and went to the door, opening it only to have a saturated Doctor spill into the hall, spraying drops of water all over her.

His purple coat dripped a continuous stream of water onto the floor as he spun around and slammed the door shut behind him.

"Phew," he panted. "I'm afraid I may have broken your lawn mower." he added, almost as an afterthought, gesturing with his index finger.

Clara raised an eyebrow at him. This sort of situation appeared to be a daily occurrence with the Doctor here, he would attempt to upgrade some gadget and manage to accidentally configure into something completely different, or just forget some essential detail and reduce the machine to a whirring, blinking mess.

He saw the look on her face and hurriedly added, "No, no, I can fix it! I only missed the waterproof linings for the new engine, I can clear it out and install some... Probably. Most likely."

"Well before you do that, would you mind not dripping all over the carpet?"

The Doctor only just then seemed to realise just how drenched he was, his clothes dark with rain and his hair plastered back to his head. Water was still cascading off him to collect in a puddle on the floor.

"Ah, well, the carpet, yes, but what about my coat? You don't just come across these in the 21st century!"

Clara narrowed her eyes at him. "Just wear some of the spare clothes I gave you from Mr Maitland. You'll survive."

The Doctor looked apalled. "But they're so boring! If only the TARDIS was...Oh, come on, where are you old girl?" the last comment was directed at the ceiling, as if he expected it to materialise above his head.

They waited a few awkward seconds in silence, and the TARDIS did not appear.

"Fine," the Doctor muttered. "Fine." Clara watched him trudge upstairs to his room, leaving behind trail of wet carpet and an air of heaviness and yearning.

Over the past few days, Clara had noticed how the Doctor's demeanor had changed. If she excluded the events of this morning- which she did, she still was not entirely sure what had happened and how she felt about it- she would say that he had become much less lively, occupying himself with the household appliances and constructing random gadgets from the bits and pieces in the garage. He was restless, too, jumping around from room to room and being much more rude and ignorant than he usually was, occasionally snapping at her, after which he would regain his former self for a few moments as he caught the surprised expression on her face. But it never lasted long.

He had lost something, some little spark. The kind of childlike glow that was almost always present in him had dimmed. He wasn't traveling, he wasn't exploring, he wasn't having some wondrous adventure, and he didn't seem to fit. He tried to hide it, definitely, and he regained some of that spark sometimes when Clara was around him, like this morning. But she had been observing him closely, and she knew that he didn't just want the TARDIS back, he needed it. It was like he needed air, he couldn't live long without it.

And Clara could not deny that she, too, wished the TARDIS back. After all those awe-inspiring things the Doctor had showed her, all the stars so many miles and years away, this life felt... Ordinary.

But the central reason for her want for the TARDIS to return was the Doctor himself. He had recovered his spark that morning, but it had not lingered long. And she wanted it back.

She wanted her Doctor, the funny, lively, glowing, yet somehow also dark, deep and powerful Doctor. Not this restless, moping, hopeless Doctor whose thoughts had nothing to occupy themselves with but his own damaged past.

•••

DOCTOR

The Doctor pulled on the boring black suit jacket over his damp shirt and scrutinized himself in the mirror. He looked so normal, so average. He didn't like average. He liked different, unique, eccentric. He didn't do plain black suits or the same routine of living every single day. Which was what happened here.

Besides, the black clashed horribly with his purple waistcoat.

He couldn't deny that he wanted to leave. He wanted the TARDIS back. He would never tell Clara, never, but life here seemed simply... Boring. Too predictable. Nothing unusual. All the same, every hour, every day.

He enjoyed having more time with Clara, though. That was the upside. But even the upside had its own downside- he was getting too close. Again. Hadn't he sworn to himself that there wouldn't be another? That he wouldn't even have another companion? But it was so easy to grow close to Clara. He wouldn't leave her, not now.

It wasn't just that he didn't want to, it was like the TARDIS leaving. He didn't think he could live for long without her.

She had made it clear that she knew his age, his long stretch of life, with all its loves and losses. He had to make her see that she was more than a ghost to him. So much more.

Maybe too much more.

There was something unfolding between them, that was certain. He didn't know how it had happened, but it had.

And, despite all his doubts, all his losses, all those goodbyes, he didn't want it to stop.

•••

Two weeks later, the weather was still shifting between cold and rainy and colder and rainier, Mr Maitland's business trip had been extended for another fortnight, and the Doctor was a dull ghost drifting around the house, taking apart and rebuilding every little gadget again and again and again with none of his previous enthusiasm.

"Doctor," she said to him from the door to the kitchen, where he sat at the table fiddling with her mobile phone. "Are you okay?"

"Hm?" he murmured, eyes not shifting from his work on the phone. "Oh, yeah, I'm okay. I'm always okay."

Clara got the feeling that this was something he said a lot. And that it was always a lie.

"What's happened to you? You're just hovering around the house, not even sleeping, breaking every I own!"

He still didn't look up. "I don't need nearly as much sleep as humans do. Time Lords are very good at surviving on little energy."

"But Time Lords aren't very good at avoiding questions, apparently."

His only answer was a wordless 'mph'.

What had happened to her Doctor? The lively, funny, smiling Doctor who had easily managed to hide his damaged past. With this Doctor, his thousand years seemed to be plaguing him every second, were behind every movement, heavy in his eyes.

Clara had had enough. The TARDIS had sulked for too long. It was time for the old cow to get over herself and come back.

She strode out of the room and out the front door into the yard, looking up into the night sky, riddled with stars.

"Hey, you," she felt just a little silly talking to open air, but knew that the TARDIS had to be nearby, and listening. "Yeah, I'm talking to you. I know you're out there. You've gotta come back right now, you hear? You selfish old cow, if you stay sulking one second longer I swear..."

A figure flickered into being before her, a reflection of herself. The TARDIS interface again.

"Oh not this again." she groaned. That TARDIS really was a little-

"This had better be important. I was exploring the hundred moons of Cataria." the hologram Clara somehow snapped in its dull tone.

"Cataria can wait. Just listen here, you. I know you don't like me, but just listen. Why did you leave? Can't you see the state you've left him in?! Why on earth would you just disappear off into nowhere, leaving him here?" she shot at the hologram.

It said nothing for a moment, then said in a monotone, "You."

If it was possible for a fake projection of herself to look sulky and reluctant, this one was.

"What do you mean 'me'?"

There wasn't a sound for almost an entire minute. The hologram flickered and shimmered, as if contemplating disappearing entirely. Then the TARDIS answered, "He wasn't going to come back. He was just going to float around the universe, doing nothing." she paused for a second. "Where's the fun in that?"

Clara was speechless for a moment. The TARDIS, with all her dislike towards Clara, had left so the Doctor wouldn't leave her.

"It wasn't for you," the TARDIS hologram interjected. "It was for him. He was sulking around in his own self-hate. How could I have any adventure at all with him like that?"

Clara smiled. "He can't live without you. I suppose we'll have to coexist somehow, eh?"

It was a little disconcerting seeing the hologram version of herself give Clara her signature raised-eyebrow expression, saying choppily, "Don't let your ego grow any bigger than it already is. Either I come back and you promise me the Doctor won't mope around after you, or I can go back to the moons of Cataria."

Clara's smile changed into a smirk. "You wouldn't. You can't wait to come back. Well, come on then. He's waiting."

The hologram-Clara-TARDIS shot her a final glare before winking out of existence. Not more than half a minute later, the chirping crickets of the late afternoon were interrupted by the unmistakable whirring of the TARDIS materialising.

Clara laughed out loud as the darkening sky and glow of street lamps around her was replaced by the glowing interior of the control room. She patted the railing fondly, muttering, "Maybe you aren't really as much of an old cow as I thought."

The TARDIS made a little creaking noise, that somehow sounded as indignantly pleased as a creak could.

Clara went over to the doors and opened them to see her own kitchen, where the Doctor was standing with an expression of pure relief, joy and shock, all at the same time.

"Coming, chin boy? I won't wait up for you to stand there gaping." she teased.

He broke out in a pure, glowing smile, coaxing one to mirror it on her own face. She stepped aside as he leapt into the TARDIS, spinning around the console and stroking the console lovingly.

"Clara, Clara, Clara! Oh, this is brilliant!" he exclaimed, and just from his words and his expression and the way he danced around clumsily, she could see that his spark had re-ignited.

Laughs, brought on by the happiness that reflected from the Doctor into her, bubbled from her throat.

Her Doctor was back.


	11. Hand Outstretched

#DN11

A/N so I have quite a few things to tell you guys today. And some of them are actually important so PLEASE READ.

1. I am changing the name of this story. It will change to "Not Everything Ends" because:

a) Definitely Not is boring as

b) this title fits the storyline as it is unfolding better

c) I can

2. I will also be changing the summary.

4. I looked back at chapter one and cringed. I have changed a few things and reupdated it. Don't worry, nothing has changed in the plot or anything. I've just fixed mistakes and made it flow better.

5. I've written a little one shot based on the episode 'Midnight' if anyone wants to check it out.

6. Always take a banana to a party.

7. Sorry this is late. Really. Sorry. Stuff happened.

8. Last but certainly not least, thank you for all your reviews, follows and favourites. I literally cannot express how much I love all your support.

Enjoy the chapter! And remember that my next update for this story will be under the title "Not Everything Ends"!

•••

DOCTOR

She was back! She was back, she was back, she was back! The Doctor could not repress the wide, open smile that spread across his face, nor the joyful spinning and prancing around his new-found TARDIS. And he didn't want to, because she was back and the wonders of the universe were once again spread out before him, and Clara was there to journey through it all beside him.

Clara had found the TARDIS. Clara had saved him.

He stopped before her, as she laughed at his wild twirling, and took her by the hand. He dragged her around the TARDIS console, flicking levers and slamming buttons, the smile unable to leave his lips.

He spun around to face her, the ecstasy swirling around inside him and everything was right again, everything was perfect, and he didn't even think, just did what all the relieved joy told him to do. He leaned in and kissed her.

It was short, and quick. Just a little thing on the spur of the moment, in a little second of happiness where all the emotion just overtook him where he couldn't reign it in.

He was still holding both her hands in his, watching as her face dimmed its fiery glow, her smile shortening, her eyebrows arching down, her eyes tightening in something like confusion, and uncertainty.

He dropped her hands quickly, spinning around and trying to put it all behind him. If he could pretend it didn't happen, maybe she would too. Maybe they could both pretend none of this was happening. None of this... whatever it was.

He couldn't afford to do this. He couldn't afford to get so close to someone again. Not like that. He had lost too many, and to lose Clara... He couldn't do this. He couldn't.

He couldn't keep sneaking those little glances at her while she wasn't looking, just reminding himself she was there, next to him. He couldn't keep searching for that glow that appeared in her eyes only when he showed her some other wonder, or when he did something that made her laugh. He couldn't keep letting the look of loss and sorrow that occasionally clouded her eyes when she thought she was alone strike the same emotions in his heart. He couldn't keep doing those brave things he had done that morning just two weeks ago, the kiss, the walk in the woods, that they had both just ignored and forgotten. He couldn't keep doing this.

But, oh, he wanted to.

•••

The Doctor flung open the TARDIS doors to reveal a forest scene, trees glistening with frost, and a purple moon shining down and reflecting off freshly fallen snow. Scaly bird-like creatures, he thought they were called Rotahs in the native language, flittered in the dusky blue sky.

"The planet of Haren, in the year 203. Forest of the Rotahs."

Clara joined him at the door, and he flicked his eyes towards her. She was looking out at the forest with a knowing little smile on her face.

"Forests of the Rotahs, eh? What are they?"

"Oh, see those flying things up there? The green ones? Them. They're a little like pterodactyls of Earth, but have two sets of wings and are geothermal powered."

Clara laughed, that beautiful, impossible laugh. "Geothermal powered birds?"

"Of course! They nest in the mouths of volcanoes, or in deep underground caves. At night they gather the energy they need from the heat through those little flaps under their wings, which harness it. Ingenious, really."

"I suppose it is," Clara replied, before stepping out in the depths of the forest. "Coming, chin boy? I need me an adventure."

The Doctor smiled again. How many times had he smiled in the past few minutes? Probably more than he had in years. "And an adventure you shall have."

•••

ARTIE

Artie stood in the doorway to the kitchen, sure that he was either loosing his mind or his suspicions about the Doctor were absolutely true, and more. He had just seen a tall blue box of some kind appear beside the kitchen table, watched the Doctor stare shocked at it while Clara's voice remarked from inside, then stared as both somehow fit into the tiny space and the whole thing disappeared.

"Angiieeeee!" he yelled.

"What?" she snapped from the living room.

"A box just appeared in the kitchen and then disappeared with the Doctor and Clara inside. Should I be worried?"

"You WHAT?"

"I didn't do anything!" he argued as Angie burst into the room. "It just kind of... Materialized. With a funny noise. And the Doctor went inside it, but Clara was already there. And it just... Disappeared. They're gone."

"Oh God, Artie..."

"I didn't do anything, I told you! And don't you see what this means? The Doctor's a secret agent! Or an alien, or something. I mean, have you noticed his chin? I bet he's a time traveller too! And that's his time machine!"

Angie looked dubious, but what other explanation was there?

"I think you might be going officially crazy, Artie."

"I'm not I swear! I saw it!"

"I've doubted your sanity for years, but really this is just..." Angie trailed off as a low whirring sound echoed through the room.

In the corner of the kitchen, the strange blue box Artie had seen materialized with a pulsing light before becoming solid with a loud, resounding thud.

•••

CLARA

Clara breathed a deep breath of the cool, rich air, gazing up at the purple light that filtered through the leaves, glittering off the rainbow wings of the giant dragonfly-like insects that danced among the trees. She had missed this. These adventures, these wondrous discoveries. She had missed the extraordinary.

The Doctor chattered beside her, spouting about the history and formation of this planet and describing the local ecosystem with awe. Apparently the dragonfly things were called Worats, and they extracted their energy from the sap deep inside trees, which in turn somehow harnessed energy from both the moon and the large stores of hot gas underground. There was no sun on this side of the planet, something to do with the alignment and rotation of the sun in accordance to Haren. But all the flora had adapted to this and utilized geothermal energy as well as the weak light from the purple moon.

The Doctor found this absolutely fascinating, and told her so, several times.

"So, you see, each and every little thing, every little life form, whether it be the tiniest little Torak beetle or the largest of Granats, depends on this great heat inside the earth. An entire planet dependent on a few stores of gas."

Clara nodded along with him, listening with interest but mostly taken with the beautiful scenery around her. It was all she had imagined when she had agreed to come with the Doctor, all she had dreamed. A distant, alien planet, beautiful and unique, a gem among the stars.

She couldn't imagine ever giving this up. It made her life on earth feel so ordinary, so inconsequential, but her morals were such that she would never, ever leave it.

Not for anything.

Clara spun around as an echoing thud sounded from somewhere in the depths of the forest, then another and another, continuing at regular intervals as if it was a giant creature running towards them. Which, Clara observed, catching sight of the bright but now worried look on the Doctor's face, it probably was.

"Hm," he mused. "That would be a Granat."

"A Granat?"

"Another of the local wildlife. Interesting one. It's a bit like a giant kangaroo... Oh wait, nothing like that, no. Forget the kangaroo. Suffice it to say, it's big, it's black, it's scaly, and it is the only life form on this planet that does not make use of the natural excess energy from other beings and environments. That is to say, it eats animals."

"Animals? And that would include people?"

"Hm, not sure. Possibly. I would love to find out if they can digest the different bone densities of-" he was cut off by a shriek that shook the trees and scraped through Clara's ears.

"On second thoughts, no, I would not."

"So it's coming to eat us, you're saying?"

"Probably. Most likely. Almost definitely. Those creatures have brilliant hearing, and and a taste for almost any living and moving thing-" another shriek split the air and the Doctor looked back at Clara, a small smile on his features.

He held out a hand to her, and Clara stared at it for a moment.

"Run?" he said to her, his voice lilting uncertainly. Clara could see that the question in his eyes was different to the one in his words. His outstretched hand, the way he leaned towards her just a little, his eyes so deep and fierce and longing. The Doctor wasn't just asking her to run. He was asking her to forgive him. For running away. For being afraid, for shying from her just to guard his damaged heart. He was asking her to help him. To heal him. To give him the bravery he needed.

But above all, he was asking her to stay. To take his hand and never let go.

She stepped towards him and took his hand. He looked down at her and she looked up at him, and she could see something twitch in his expression, his eyes glinting, his mouth quirking in barely suppressed relief.

"Run," she answered, and they plunged into the forest as the air shuddered and the trees shook around them, their hands clasped tightly together.


	12. Ice cream and Lies

A/N greetings ladies and gentlemen and variations thereupon. I would like to present to you chapter 12 of Not Everything Ends, previously titled Definitely Not. Hope you like the change. :)

This chapter is a bit random. Total fluff and all that ;).

also

YOU GUYS I FINALLY WATCHED SHERLOCK. SECOND BEST SHOW IN THE UNIVERSE.

that is all.

•••

ANGIE

"What the hell?" Angie simply stared at the strange wooden blue box that had just appeared rather noisily in the kitchen.

Artie stood gaping at it alongside her, perhaps he actually wasn't crazy. Well, not in this context, at least.

The door of the box flew open, and the Doctor and Clara spilled out into the kitchen, both looking quite disheveled and flustered but laughing animatedly.

Angie couldn't help but note, even in this impossible situation, that thy were holding hands.

They seemed to catch sight of her an Artie and shimmied apart quickly, still grinning at each other.

"Clara," Angie said sharply. "Care to tell us what the hell is going on?"

Clara's cheeks were pink with adrenalin as she answered, still smiling but sobered a little as she cast a helpless glance at the Doctor, "Oh, it's... We're... Oh boy, no getting out of this one, is there? Um, you see, the Doctor is..." she faltered.

"Is...?"

"A time traveller," the man in question finished. "I'm a thousand year old alien with two hearts, twenty seven brains, a sonic screwdriver that can reconfigure anything you wish except wood, a blue police box that can go anywhere in time and space at the touch of a button, and I have a fetish for bow ties."

He's lying, right? Of course he is. He's playing a joke. But then, how did that thing appear in the kitchen? To be honest, it would explain a lot. How he can fix and upgrade any technological gadget, how he just seemed to pop up out of nowhere, and the alien bit would also explain his funny looking chin.

"Twenty seven brains?" Artie burst out.

"Oh, fine. Just one brain. But everything else is true."

Clara nudged him. "Are you sure you should have told them?"

"I'm sure they were going to figure it out anyway. They are quite clever, those two." the Doctor smiled at Angie, and she raised her eyebrows at him.

"So it's a time machine. It can go anywhere, anytime?"

"Anywhere, anytime." he confirmed.

"Can we go to the future?" Artie rushed, doing a little skip of excitement. Angie rolled her eyes.

The Doctor pulled at his collar. "Er..."

"If you don't, we may just let something slip to dad..." Angie threatened. There was no way she was going to miss out on time traveling, no way at all.

"Oh, fine." he sighed, flicking his hand at her. "That all right Clara?"

Clara did her narrowed eyes thing at Angie, and she shot her own right back. "I suppose, but nowhere dangerous, I'm telling you, Doctor! And be sure this time, nothing at all that could harm anyone!"

"No, no, no, never. Since when have I ever brought you somewhere that was safe that turned out to be dangerous?"

Clara gave him a look. And he cringed a little. "Okay, point taken. Who wants ice cream?"

"Ice cream? Are you serious? You're going to take us in your little box to get ice creams?"

The Doctor spun around and pulled open the doors of the box, revealing an interior glowing with blue lights that was most definitely bigger than it was on the outside.

"Not just any ice cream! The planet of ice cream! Every single flavour you could ever dream of, right there."

"A planet of ice cream? Is it made of ice cream too?" Artie asked. God, Angie thought, however many As that kid got at school, he was thick.

"No, no. It's just a regular planet, quite small, that happens to have the best ice cream factory in the universe."

Angie followed him and Clara inside the box, and couldn't help but marvel at the size of the interior.

"It's bigger on the inside!" Artie exclaimed in earnest.

The Doctor smiled goofily. "Exactly." he flipped a lever on the large console in the middle of the room, blinking and flashing with lights.

"Setting course for Reichton, planet of ice cream!"

The room jolted and tilted violently, and Angie grabbed at the railing to avoid falling head first on the floor. Artie was not so lucky.

"Are you sure this thing is safe?" he asked, picking himself up from the ground.

"Safe? Well, moderately..."

The room rocked again, and Angie grabbed Artie's shirt as he slammed into the bars and almost toppled over to the dark space below.

A boom vibrated through the room, and perspective righted itself.

The Doctor stood up, offering a hand to Clara, and brushed off his purple coat.

"Well, then," he stepped over to the doors and swung then open, revealing a vast landscape of shining glass buildings under a distant blue sun. "Welcome to the planet of ice cream!" he swept out his arms in a dramatic gesture.

Angie rolled her eyes, and saw Clara do the same. "He enjoys dramatizing everything," she said.

The Doctor pretended to ignore her and strode outside. After a second, Clara and Artie followed. Angie hesitated for just a moment before stepping out onto the soil of the alien planet.

•••

DOCTOR

"Here we are!" the Doctor flung his arm out at the huge sprawling white building, engraved with words in thousands of alien languages. One of the largest words read "REICHTON ICE CREAM PARLOUR- THE GREATEST ICE CREAM IN THE UNIVERSE".

"In the universe?" the Doctor pretended not to hear the dubious tone in Angie's voice.

"In the entire universe! The resident people of this planet, their name would sound a little like Richan in English, developed the recipe over thousands of years. And this is the result."

"You're telling me ice cream was invented by aliens?"

"No, I'm telling you aliens adapted the recipe from humans. I was actually the inventor of ice cream."

"You? You invented ice cream?" Artie's eyes were wide and in awe.

"Don't believe a word, Artie." Clara muttered.

The Doctor gave her a mock indignant glare. "Alright, fine. I took it off Gordon Ramsay. But I did give it to the Chinese."

"That's not inventing. That's stealing. And creating paradoxes." Clara raised an eyebrow at him in that infuriating expression.

"Hey, I can have a little fun, can't I?" he smiled at her. She could never fail to waken this bright and playful side of him.

"Oh shut up, you too. Enough flirting. Let's just get the ice cream." Angie snapped.

Flirting? "What-no-I... Shut up!" he spun around and went into the building. He hadn't been, had he? At least not intentionally.

The interior was glowing with white, lined with cases filled with all the flavours of ice cream imaginable and bustling with people and not-people alike.

"Look at all these flavours!" He heard Artie cry. "Cheesecake, roast beef, salt and vinegar chips, durian... And these all these other ones I've never even heard of!"

"So what would you like, then?"

"Gosh, I don't know..."

"Artie," Angie sneered. "You are the only kid I know who actually says 'gosh'."

"Can I- can I have... Strawberry tart? And bombe Alaska? And that weird looking purple one?"

"Sure you can! Choose all you like."

"How are you going to pay for all this, anyway? If you're just a traveller then you don't even have a job."

The Doctor strut up to the counter and pulled out his psychic paper as the serving Richan looked expectantly at him.

"Professional ice cream tasters, here for a sample."

"But we're not..." Artie began before he heard him muffled abruptly, presumably by Angie's hand.

"We'll have one of whatever he said, another with, let's see, jammy dodger and banana, and what do you too want?"

Angie was peering into the cases, looking bored, but Clara piped up, "How about soufflé? Oh, and apple. I love apples."

The Doctor wrinkled his nose. "I hate apples. What about you, Angie?"

"Give me anything. I don't care." she raised an eyebrow in a very Clara-like look and smirked.

A few minutes later, they were all sitting at one of the candy striped tables and digging eagerly into their ice creams. Everyone, the Doctor supposed, except for Angie.

"That's what you get for not choosing a flavour," Artie told her. "They give you licorice and alien fruit."

"Shut up," Angie muttered, flicking some of her licorice at Artie, which landed on his forehead. She glared down at her ice cream and then looked up with a suspicious smirk written on her face. "So how was your date, you two?"

"It wasn't a date," the Doctor spluttered, just as Clara said the same in a tired voice.

"Sure it wasn't."

"Angie," Clara stressed. "Can you please not be one of those annoying little sisters for just one minute?"

Artie "ooh"ed as Angie shook her head, looking amused.

"You two are hilarious," she chuckled. "But you'll soon realise. Trust me."

Clara rolled her eyes, and the Doctor shifted his feet, studying his rather delicious jammy dodger ice cream as it began to melt down the sides of the cone.

But then he looked up, and saw Clara who was, too, looking intently at her soufflé ice cream.

And behind her blank mask, the one she assumed whenever she didn't want anyone to know what she was feeling, or what she was thinking, the Doctor thought he saw something. Something that mirrored what was on his own face.

A small, hidden smile.


	13. The Doctor is Himself

A/N what is my life anymore but Doctor Who.

I'm drowning in an infinite, bottomless ocean of ABC2 reruns and fanfiction and being hit by wave upon life destroying wave of feels. There's a shark lurking in the depths, by the name of Moffat, and the storm of the 50th is looming.. Wind races along the water, whispering "Matt is leaving, matt is leaving."

I'm clinging to a life ring from the S.S WHOUFFLE, but the ship itself is so far away.

Did I just make an ocean metaphor for Doctor Who?

I think I did.

Don't mind me everyone. Hiatus is getting to my head. And I just watched the Reichenbach Fall, so please forgive me if my sanity seems to be faltering. I have a good reason.

CLARA

Clara was pulled violently into the TARDIS, followed immediately by a panting Angie and Artie.

"You didn't tell me that the Richans actually hate humans?!" she yelled as the Doctor jumped hurriedly around the console, slamming levers and spinning wheels.

"Well, usually they're nice! It's your fault for starting the ice cream fight!"

"My fault? I accidentally dripped some on your bow tie, and you flicked a whole spoonful in my face in return! You started it!"

She couldn't believe she was arguing about this. An ice cream fight, when they had just been almost killed by aliens! And, as usual, this was due to the Doctor just being arrogant and silly.

Though to be fair, his childlike grin had caused her to indulge him in his game.

"Oi, no one defaces the bow tie!" he brushed it fondly before pulling one last lever to send the TARDIS spinning off into the vortex with a jolt.

"God, you two. You sound like an old married couple," Angie commented.

Angie received Clara's fiercest glare and a look of fumbled shock from the Doctor.

"Clara and the Doctor, sitting in the tree. K-I-S-S-" Artie began to chant.

"Don't you start that again." Clara warned, trying to sound as dismissive as possible. Why did those two always have to see more than they should?

The Doctor flung open the doors to reveal the interior of the Maitland's living room, and they all filed out.

Clara sank down onto the couch, sighing, as the Doctor patted the TARDIS and sat down next to her. She was about to say something to him when the front door clicked and opened.

"I'm home!" a voice called. George. Returning already? He was supposed to be away for at least another week!

Artie ran off to hug his dad, while Angie yelled back a "hello", raising her eyebrows at Clara and the Doctor.

"Better get rid of that thing, quick."

The Doctor jumped up, but unfortunately in that exact moment George Maitland chose to glance into the living room, catching sight of him and Clara.

"Who's this, Clara?"

"Um, he's a friend," she said hesitantly, eyeing the Doctor, who was frozen in place.

George started towards the living room, so Clara pushed him to the door. If he saw the TARDIS... Clara didn't even want to think about all the complications of that happening.

"I'm George," he held out his hand to the Doctor, who looked at it confusedly before shaking it a little too eagerly.

"I'm the Doctor. Nice to meet you."

"Sorry, the Doctor, did you say?"

"Yes. Just the Doctor," he said with a smile.

George eyed his ice cream smeared coat for a moment before turning to Clara. He seemed about to say something before he spotted the matching droplets of ice cream on her own clothes, and Angie's, and Artie's.

Clara felt like laughing hysterically, or screaming. One of the two.

Or maybe both.

George simply stared for another second, then nodded at the Doctor and turned to lug his bags upstairs.

"Get that thing out of here!" Clara shout-whispered.

"Er, yes. Quite right." He stepped back into the TARDIS, which promptly disappeared.

Clara sighed again.

"Okay, you two. We went to get ice cream, and there were some teenagers there, alright? They threw ice cream everywhere and we were right in the middle of it. And then we went home. That's the story."

"Plus, you two also flirted subconsciously through the entire thing. Lets add that for some truth," Angie contributed. Unnecessarily.

Clara gave her a look, not even bothering to enter into another argument.

Just then, in the exact same moment, the Doctor crept back through the front door and George descended the stairs.

The latter gave the former a puzzled look, which was returned by a glowing, childlike grin.

"You're Clara's friend?" he asked.

The Doctor nodded. "Yes. Yes, I suppose I am."

Angie coughed loudly.

"Would you like to join us for tea...Doctor?"

"Oh, no, I, um..." he wrung his hands wildly, and glancing sidelong at Clara. "I had a... Gas leak, in my apartment the other day, and I really should go and...er..." the Doctor seemed unable to find further words.

"Clear it up," Clara suggested.

"Yes! Yes, that. I need to make sure none of the... furniture has been damaged!"

"Gas leak?" George sounded concerned. "Have you called the council about it? It's probably not safe to stay there."

"Oh no. I've been staying here. It's been wonderful, really. Thank you."

George looked over at Clara with a surprised expression. Clara felt like laughing wildly again.

"And we've had a brilliant day, hope you don't mind that I've fixed and upgraded both computers, the oven, microwave, the fridge and all the other appliances. Can't say the same for the toaster, however, it was nearly broken anyway and I needed it as a spare part for Clara's laptop," the Doctor babbled, as he did in any situation he felt uncomfortable in.

Clara was certain she was going to laugh and make the exchange even more awkward. This was definitely not how she had imagined the Doctor meeting George. In fact, she hasn't even imagined it at all. She had wanted to avoid it at all costs.

"So, er, nice to meet you, Mr Maitland," he finished, before taking the other man by the shoulders and air-kissing him on both cheeks. He then spun round and stride out the door.

George stood in stunned silence for a minute before clearing his throat. "I'm not even going to ask about the ice cream," he said, before turning and retreating up the stairs.


	14. Remembering and Forgetting

A/N guys. I think I am seriously in need of some mental help. This ship is eating me out from the inside.

I'm serious.

I play several instruments, and it has gotten to the point where if I think about whouffle while practicing a piece it ACTUALLY SOUNDS BETTER.

NO FREAKING JOKE I'M SERIOUS MY MUM WAS LISTENING AND I PLAYED THE SAME PIECE TWICE AND THE SECOND TIME I STARTED RANDOMLY THINKING ABOUT THE NAME OF THE DOCTOR AND THEM SAVING EACH OTHER AND SHE WAS LIKE "you know, the second time you played that it sounded really different, and a lot better than the first". WHAT THE HELL WHAT IS MY LIFE

Ahem.

Enjoy the chapter.

P.S Christmas Whouffle! Hooray!

P.P.S I have written a little whouffle one shot. It's wholock (Sherlock and doctor who) but you can really read it even if you haven't seen Sherlock. Check it out on my profile! Pretty please?

P.P.P.S YOU GUYS ARE AWESOME! All these reviews...thank you everyone! I love you all in a non-sexual way!

•••

DOCTOR

The Doctor brushed down his coat, straightened his bow tie, and combed his fingers roughly through his hair before making a face at his distorted reflection in the metal of the TARDIS console.

It was another Wednesday, meaning another Clara day. Of course, to him yesterday had been Wednesday too. And the day before that. He had a time machine, he didn't have to wait the entire week that separated the days he could see Clara again. He didn't want to, either.

Stepping out of the TARDIS, he took a deep breath of the outside air and walked up the path to the front door, the path that he had now memorized every turn, every crack, every crevice of. But that was just his Time Lord memory, not any sort of sentimentality. Right?

He rang the doorbell, and it was answered almost immediately by Artie.

"Artie! And how are you on this beautiful afternoon?"

Artie looked dubiously up at the sky, which threatened another thunderstorm. "I'm...okay. Um... It's Thursday."

"Thursday? No, no, it's Wednesday! Of course it's Wednesday!"

Clara appeared beside Artie in the doorway, face set with that raised-eyebrow-set-mouth-head-slightly-tilted-expr ession he had come to know so well.

"It's definitely Thursday."

"Oh, well, um," he fiddled with his bow tie, needing something to do with his hands. He hated situations like this. He didn't pretend to be adept in the social scene.

Angie materialized behind Artie, saving him. "Actually, Doctor, Artie needs some help with his history project."

The Doctor, despite his lack of social adeptness, did not miss the slightly confused look on Artie's face that he quickly changed into an innocent smile.

"Yeah! It's on Vincent Van Gogh. I'm supposed to analyze some of his paintings and write a biography."

The Doctor clapped his hands together and rubbed them eagerly. This was something he could do. "I'll have you know that I met the man himself!"

"That's what we were counting on," Angie deadpanned.

"Come on!" the Doctor followed Artie as he ran down the hall, hyper aware of Clara as she ghosted behind him. He could almost hear the smirk that he presumed was painted across her face.

Artie held up a print out copy of several of Van Gogh's paintings expectantly.

"Ah yes. The greatest painter who ever lived. He fancied my friend, did you know? Even painted a picture for her. The sunflower one. Funny story that," the Doctor knew he was launching into a rant, but Artie was listening intently, and Clara was standing off to the side along with that infuriating smile. "She gave him some sunflowers, knowing that he would paint then in the future, and he did. Another paradox, funnily enough, but that's why it says "for Amy" just there. She gave him hope, you see, you know he was depressed? He was special, that man. A bit of a prophet, he could see little trails of time and creatures that no one else could. And it drove him mad, it did, it weighed down on his life. But all these wonders of life, he showed them to rest of the world in his paintings. And Amy... She gave him hope. She was brilliant. She made his life so much brighter just through her own human goodness," he trailed off, looking down at his hands. Those young, lying hands.

Evil hands.

Amy Pond was gone. And it was by his hand.

If he was honest to himself, it was him who had killed her.

Brave, fiery, loyal Amy Pond. The girl who waited. Waited for him.

Out of the corner of his eye, the Doctor sneaked a look at Clara. She was sitting casually, her hair hanging down, arms slung across her lap. Her eyes were wandering, light and deep and golden brown. Glowing with life. Glowing with all that was inside her.

All that knowledge, that wisdom, that cleverness for anything and everything and was far beyond her young age. All that fire, that playfulness, that fun. And then, behind that, the constant sense of loss that she had never acknowledged, yet never seemed to truly dispel. And with that loss had come wariness, a reluctance to trust, to come close, a sense of security to protect herself. And then, pushing through this mist of hidden yet ever present sadness, was a yearning. A yearning for more, for adventure, for worlds beyond imagining. A yearning for wonders and dangers and extraordinary things.

He saw all this, because much of it was reflected in himself.

But she was different to him. Different to anyone he had ever met.

And she was beautiful.

But, just like all his other companions, just like Amy, one day he would lose her.

"Doctor?" she was looking back at him curiously, her eyes crinkled.

He blinked and looked away. "And you see "Starry Night"? He could see all of those movements in the sky. That was his inspiration. All the little wonders of life. He saw it all. Quite mad, he was. But brilliant all the same. Reminds me of someone I know," he added, in an attempt to lighten his own inner mood.

"Modesty is a virtue barely ever blessed upon you, Doctor," Clara muttered.

He felt himself smiling again, just from the sound of her playful, teasing voice.

"So, will you be joining for Christmas dinner tomorrow night?"

Christmas? Was it Christmas already?

"Er..." he looked at his hands.

"Please, Doctor? Dad said we could ask you!" Artie pleaded.

"Of course! Not in my nature to miss a party! And why are you doing homework? It's Christmas Eve!"

"It's holiday homework."

"Holiday homework? It's an oxymoron! A paradox!"

Artie smiled, and Clara did too.

"You also kinda need to prove to Dad that you aren't a freak. I don't think he was impressed."

"Well, that's how most people think of me. Is that enough for your project, Artie? Because I just have to go and something." Oh real smooth Doctor. Something.

Clara's smile morphed into a smirk. "You've forgotten it's Christmas, haven't you? Go on then. Just don't get some priceless wish-giving jewel from Mercury for gifts. In fact, don't get me anything."

Ha. Humble Clara. "Mercury is a far from ideal environment for gems to form, much less wish granting ones." he said, retreating down the hall.

"You know what I mean. You are much too eager to please."

He wasn't aware that this was a part of his personality. "I'm what?"

"Oh you know. Showing me the universe. All through space and time. A bit desperate, hey?"

The Doctor laughed to himself as he backed out through the front door, calling an indignant "Shut up!" back to a chuckling Clara.

He paused on the doorstep for a second, just able to hear Artie make some snide comment through the glass door by use of his Time Lord hearing.

"He's going to buy you a Christmas present, anyway, isn't he?" Artie continued.

"Yes, I believe he is," Clara muttered with a small, exasperated sigh.

The Doctor smiled again, for his own sake this time, and stepped out onto the path.

He was almost certainly sure that this, this thing he was doing, was wrong. Well, wrong for him. Well, right for him, but wrong for his future, and possibly Clara's as well.

But, for once, he didn't care about the future.

He just cared about now.


	15. Waiting and Whispering

A/N Christmas! Yay! :) I wish it was Christmas. Wait, no, no I don't.

NO.

*cries* NO MATT I LOVE YOU!

•••

DOCTOR

The bravery that had blessed the Doctor yesterday had all but vaporized. He was standing upon Clara's doorstep, clutching an armful of neatly wrapped gifts, and shuffling in his shoes.

Last night he had slept, something he had to do only on an extremely rare basis. The reasons for this were not just due to his Time Lord system, it was also because it was at those times, when he was lying alone in the dark in the depths of the TARDIS, that he allowed himself to really think. It was at those times that he remembered.

But last night, he had not remembered the horrors of the Time War, had not lamented on his own flaws of being, had not relived the last moments he had had with all those he had lost.

No. Last night he had been thinking of Clara.

How she had saved him, well, the other Clara, from what may have been eternal despair, self pity and rage that shamed him deeply now. The way she acted around him, not as if he was a god, or a demon. As if he was someone she trusted, someone she was comfortable with, someone she truly knew.

And she did. She knew him better than anyone. Even himself, sometimes.

Her unfailing cleverness, she always knew what was right and wrong and possible. Her bravery too, but not arrogance. She would admit her fear, but face it all the same. Her kindness, that simple human goodness and empathy and light, disguised though it may be behind fiery remarks and teasing smirks.

And he had not been able to stop the clear, perfect image of her from appearing in all corners of his mind.

It scared him.

He had not slept well.

Maybe they had conquered Clara's doubts, maybe he had convinced her that she could trust him, that he had made the biggest mistake of his life by leaving her, that he would always stay by her. But the Doctor could never, ever, kill his own demons.

Hide them, sure, but until the day he died, they would be with him. Waiting and whispering.

Clara finally opened the door with a smile and an eye roll at his presents.

"Merry Christmas!" he exclaimed. "Wait, it is Christmas, isn't it? Tell me I got the date right."

"Miraculously, yes."

He let out a breath. That could have been disastrous.

"Well, come in then," she stepped back from the door. "You must be freezing out there."

To be honest, he hadn't been thinking about the weather. Though now that he noticed, his hands were blue with cold.

He followed her into the living room, where was gathered Angie, Artie and George, along with a variety of others he presumed were other relatives. Artie ran up to give him a hi-five as he came in, George gave him a nod, and he received Merry Christmases from all round. That was one reason why he loved the Earth holiday. Strangers would become close to family.

Clara put a hand on his arm and whispered, "Please try to act normal. At least relatively. And don't go doing that air kissing thing. It's weird."

"What? Weird? I thought that was how you greeted each other," he whispered back.

He could almost hear her eye-roll. "Not in 21st century England!"

"Okay fine. But I'm keeping the bow tie!"

"Do you think I could delude myself into believing that I could take it off you?"

By now their whispered conversation was verging on the edge of rude, so the Doctor stepped over to the glowing Christmas tree that towered in the corner and piled his own gifts onto the stack underneath.

"Clara," he heard a deep male voice call across the room. "Come introduce me to your boyfriend."

•••

CLARA

Clara took the Doctor by the elbow, trying to tell him "please don't be weird please don't be weird" via her strong grip. She wasn't sure that he got the message.

She rarely saw her father nowadays. After her mother's death, he had grown distant, concentrating on work rather than her. And it was just the two of them, so eventually Clara was forced to pretend that the separation was perfectly normal. She didn't really blame him, the loss had wounded him harder than anything else could have. But she had been so angry in those first few years. She still wouldn't forgive him for that, but they both mutually ignored it. As a result, she hadn't even seen him face-to-face for months.

"Doctor, this is my Dad. Dad, this is the Doctor. And we're not-really..." she trailed off, trying to fixate on something to say to less the awkwardness of the situation. Because he wasn't her boyfriend. She supposed she had kissed him several times. And their time-and-space adventure might be counted as dates. But she was still in some slight denial. She was still relying a little on her trick, to not fall in love. And she knew he had his own demons lurking in his eyes. He would never be a conventional boyfriend, the connection they had was something different. Something stronger and closer yet involving much more uncertainty and shadows.

She also did not want to receive yet more teasing from Angie.

"We're friends," the Doctor added. His voice was tight and slow.

"Merry Christmas." Her dad held out his hand, and the Doctor took it and shook it slowly.

"Merry Christmas, Mr Oswald," he said softly. There was something in his voice that Clara didn't like.

"Oh, please. Call me Peter. And what do you do for a living? I suppose you're a doctor, is that it? Is that what the nickname means?"

The Doctor was saved from answering by the hustle of everyone moving into the dining room. As the Doctor followed her in, he gave her a look, and gestured his shoulder towards her father before taking her hand softly.

He was much smarter than Clara took him for in social situations.

They took a seat at the table, which was sparkling with Christmas lights above which were set plates upon plates.

The chatter in the room rose excitedly, and Clara took a seat next to the Doctor and Angie. The Doctor talked amiably with his other neighbour, one of Angie and Artie's grandmothers who seemed to enjoy his rambling about knitting.

She took up her Christmas cracker and nudged him, deep in conversation about the different ways to knit scarves. But he seemed to get her drift, and his eyes brightened as he took one end of the cracker.

"One, two, three!" They pulled it apart with a bang that made the Doctor jolt, although he received the winning half.

"Aha!" he dug eagerly into the cracker, extricating several paper hats, bad jokes and a plastic rabbit.

"What has eight limbs and tells the time?"

Clara shrugged, smiling. "I don't know. What?"

He seemed to be struggling with the punch line, and kept on holding back laughs. "A clocktopus!"

Clara laughed, not at the joke, which was horrible, but at the Doctor himself. He could never fail to make her smile, whether it be by showing her some amazing distant planet or simply being himself.

"I've got one," she picked up another that had fallen out. "Who was the world's first underwater spy?"

"Wait I know this... Is it... Oh no this is on earth isn't it? Um..."

"James Pond."

The Doctor laughed a little, but it was a different laugh. Something flickered in his eyes before it was hurriedly hidden away again. A movement. Or, not so much a movement as a not-movement. Something stilled.

Clara's smile faded.

"Have a hat," he said, placing a red paper crown on her head lopsidedly. "Everyone needs a hat." He appraised it, but his eyes kept flicking back to her face. He knew that she had seen it. The stillness.

"So do you, then," she replied, pulling a lime green one down over his troublesome hair.

"So are you two done flirting yet or can we start eating?" Angie asked nonchalantly.

Clara looked around to see that everyone had been waiting on them. "Yes, of course," she said hurriedly. The Doctor failed to conceal a laugh beside her.

"Shut up," she muttered, helping herself to some ham.

"Make me," he whispered back, then, suddenly seeming to realise what he had said, stuttered a little with comical wide eyes.

"Maybe I will," Clara replied. The expression that crossed his face then was one of shock, amusement and hilarious embarrassment, that one she loved, it made him seem so young and much more human. A series of laughs bubbled up inside her, earning some suspicious glances from the others seated at the table.

They spent the meal savouring all the delicious food, the creators of which the Doctor kept on enthusiastically thanking. He managed to obtain a Chinese finger trap from someone else's cracker, and spent ten minutes trying and failing to be free of it. Clara had to free him with the sonic screwdriver in the end, much to his annoyance.

"I was going to do it myself," he huffed. "I'd almost worked out a way to bypass the physics of the thing."

"You can't just bypass physics."

"Sure I can. I'm the Doctor. Physics isn't the boss of me."

Clara didn't dignify this with a response, and just gave him a look. She knew she was flirting again, from the raised-eyebrow that Angie gave her. But it was just something that she did, had always done. Mostly because it was hilarious. But over time it had started to become less jokey and more true.

"So, Artie. What did you get from jolly old Saint Nick?" the Doctor said across the table.

"I got a new bike! And a chemistry set! And about ten books!"

"That's sounds brilliant! I could do with a chemistry set myself..."

"Oh shut up Artie. We all know that Santa isn't-"

Clara inconspicuously nudged Angie in the ribs and gave her a look. She glared back.

"Oh of course Father Christmas is real! I met him once, in fact. Great man, but really does need to go on a diet. And his real name is actually Jeff, thank you very much. He insisted I call him that."

Artie appeared in awe, but Angie raised an eyebrow dubiously. Clara wasn't sure whether he was kidding or not. But she didn't think he was.

Everyone began clearing up their plates for dessert, and Clara tapped the Doctor on the shoulder.

"Are you going to eat those?" She pointed at the gourmet fish fingers (courtesy of grandpa Maitland) that were left on his otherwise empty plate.

"I'm saving them for later," he replied cryptically.

"Alright," she shrugged, standing. "Leave room for dessert!"

"You know I will! Dessert is the best meal of the day. Not particularly healthy, given, but delicious! A bit like Saturdays. Or roller coasters. No wait I think those are good for you..."

When Clara returned the Doctor was gesturing animatedly to Artie and a couple of his cousins, telling some tale about visiting Mount Vesuvius on the day of the eruption. The adults all seemed to think that the story was quite amusing, but she knew that it was probably true.

"And, so, my friend Donna was taken by this sisterhood, who were actually under the control of the Pyroviles. Aliens. Imagine giant human things made of rocks and lava. They were using the volcano to conquer the earth, so we had to force it to erupt, getting rid of all the fire alien things, and then BAM! Earth saved, thank you very much."

"I think your boyfriend's been cheating on you," Angie remarked slyly, receiving a very sharp glare from Clara.

"Oi, no. I told you. She was a great friend of mine. And it was a different face, anyway, different personality, and all," the Doctor said to Angie, catching her comment. Was it just Clara's Christmas-muddled brain, or did he seem a but eager to make that point?

"What do you mean, different face?" Artie asked.

"Oh, well, I'm a Time Lord. Have I told you? When I die, I don't. I get a new body. A new brain. A bit like metamorphosis for a butterfly, except I don't curl up in a cocoon for ages and I suffer the pain of dying. Meaning, not at all like that. Forget butterflies."

Clara laughed. He had explained regeneration to her before, but not in great detail. And he hasn't said much about his previous lives, either. But, she supposed, here was a thousand year old man who had experienced things that could drive her insane. He couldn't tell her everything.

But, sitting here beside him, surrounded by chatters and cheers and chuckling, watching him gesture wildly about the fashionable coolness of bow ties (when questioned on their merit by Angie) it was so very easy to forget that.


	16. Fezzes, Fish Custard, Flirting and Fun

A/N guys. You are awesome. Seriously amazingly properly awesome. I got ten reviews for chapter 14. Hear that? TEN. Thank you everyone so much! Betcha can't get to a hundred...haha. But really. You are all AMAZING!

And enjoy the chapter. More Christmas fluff. :)

•••

CLARA

"Fish fingers and custard?"

Clara dubiously scrutinized the Doctor's plate of gourmet fish fingers, which he had heaped with creamy custard.

"They're delicious!" he said with his mouth half full. "Try one?"

"Maybe just one," she laughed at his hopeful expression and took one of the custard-dripping fish fingers off his plate.

She eyed it for a second before taking a bite. To her great surprise, it actually was quite delicious. All warm and cold and creamy. It should have been disgusting, but it wasn't.

"Well," she nodded. "That's a first. Something you say is cool that actually _is_ cool."

"Oi, you like my bow tie, I know you do."

"Says _you_."

"Will you _shut up_?" Angie retorted sharply. "I will _not_ sit here while you two unashamedly flirt through the entirety of Christmas dinner! I have to eat, you know. And some people might get the..._wrong idea _about you both."

Several of Angie's neighbours caught her, quite loud, words, and gave strange looks to both Clara and the Doctor. The former concentrated intently on the remainder of her pavlova, and the latter struggled not to spit out his fish fingers in protesting splutters.

This was where she would usually give Angie a withering glare, but it was Christmas and she couldn't bring herself to do anything but smile behind her hand at the red-faced Doctor.

She watched her father give her a questioning glance, and just shook her head at him, holding back her own laughs.

•••

DOCTOR

"Presents!" the Doctor exclaimed, pulling Clara along. "The second best thing about Christmas!"

"What's the first?"

"Erm, probably the dinner. Or, no no, it's the happiness, you know, all that humany wumany stuff. Or perhaps it's just the fact that aliens seem to find Christmas a very opportune time to invade and I end up having lots of exciting adventures!"

Or, perhaps, it's that he can spend a whole evening laughing and talking with Clara. Though he doesn't add that, mentally catching himself at the thought. _What's happening to you, Doctor? You can't do this again. It never ends well. Not for either of them. _

But he kept on smiling.

Respective family members and friends began doling out gifts to others, and the room erupted in praises and thank-yous and cheers and laughs. The Doctor watched as Artie gave him a thumbs up, taking out his present from him from under the tree, identifiable by its TARDIS blue wrapping paper.

Clara nudged him. "What'd you get him?"

"Ah, spoilers, Clara!" he scolded playfully, tapping her on the nose.

Artie came running over, clutching his gift that, if the Doctor didn't say so himself, was quite brilliant.

"So, it's nice and all, but what is it?" Artie held up the flat black panel to the light.

"Well, you see, this represents the top-of-the-range, forefront of the evolution of modern technology. It contains all the knowledge humans have gathered of the observable universe, well, in 2013 anyway. Or maybe 2014. I don't remember," he tapped the panel and it lit up in vibrant light, projecting a 3D image of the Milky Way above, hanging in the air. "All of the information about distant planets, galaxies, everything out there! What do you think, eh? Pretty cool?"

"Yeah! Thanks so much!" Artie exclaimed, his face aglow.

The Doctor saw, out of the edge of his vision, Clara wearing a half-awed, half-really-really-quite-pleased-wow-doctor expression.

"You got him an encyclopaedia? That's, like, the bottom of the scale for Christmas gifts, you know right?"

"This is a special encyclopaedia!"

Angie rolled her eyes, but Artie was entranced.

As he watched, Clara's face morphed into her oh-god-doctor-are-you-serious-how-can-you-be-1300- years-old-and-not-think-of-this expression.

"Don't worry, it's from this year...mostly!" he said hurriedly before she could speak. "And they told Mr Maitland that I'm a secret agent, remember? I think I'll keep playing that card. Say I got special access to new technologies. And I have saved this world billions of times I think I'm allowed to borrow one of MI6's new information viewing devices. Especially since I stopped their headquarters from being blown up _even_ after their top correspondent made a very comprising remark to the Sontarans. Though I suppose the comment was valid as they _did_ try to destroy earth. Several times."

"Doctor."

"Yes?"

"You're doing it again."

"Doing what? Oh, you mean the talking thing? People say that a lot, actually. Well, not _people_ persay, not always anyway. Once a king of a the Waags told me to shut up, though he really shouldn't have because I was trying to tell him that there was a giant sick star whale about to crash into his planet and-okay don't laugh. That's not nice."

The Doctor gave Clara an irritated glare as she began laughing and shaking her head at him.

"Oh wait, Angie!" he turned and retrieved another, smaller gift from under the tree. "Merry Christmas."

"Um, thanks?" she muttered, carefully opening the wrapping, her expression changing from dubious to amazed in a second. "Oh my god. Oh my god. Clara, your boyfriend is the best. Marry him now."

The Doctor felt his face grow hot at this comment, saw Clara with a similar expression, and was about to say something before Angie bounded off, brandishing her box labelled "iPhone 9".

"Okay, now that was just irresponsible," Clara commented. "Doesn't that breach some law of time or something?"

"Yes, a little bit. But I only ignore those for Christmas presents and cheap tricks."

"Haha. Wait, I've got one for you somewhere..." Clara murmured, crouching down to rummage in the pile of gifts, and emerging with a little red-wrapped one and a smile. "Here it is."

A Christmas present? He hadn't been given a present for years, decades, centuries, even, if he didn't count the ones that were actually death threats.

"Thank you, Clara," he said slowly, rolling out her name on his tongue, before tearing off the wrapping eagerly. "Maybe the presents really are number one!"

Inside the neatly folded and sello-taped paper lay a perfectly blue bow tie. He recognised it distinctly as the one he had tried on at the shop in town, after they had, er, yelled at each other, and before they had, er, done that thing. With their mouths.

But he didn't show any of this on his face, just wore his best goofy smile that Clara always said she thought silly but he knew she loved. Not that he had tried to notice this. Not at all.

"Oh, brilliant! Fantastic! Bow ties _are_ cool!"

"Thought you might like it. I also saw this, and figured it might match your fashion sense..." Clara retrieved something from the back of the tree and held it up.

A perfectly red, perfectly tasseled fez.

"Aha! Oh, beautiful!" he cried, not particularly caring that others were either narrowing their eyes or giggling at him. "You know, I used to have one of these. Until someone shot it." He took the hat from her and placed it atop his head. "Perfect!"

Clara laughed again, and he tried not to let the sunny, warm feeling that welled up inside him at the sound show too much.

"Wait here," he said to her, holding up a finger and darting back through the throng to the Christmas tree.

He rummaged in the dwindling pile until he found it, a small box wrapped in dark blue. He made his way back to Clara and placed it in her hand.

"What's this?" she raised an eyebrow.

"A thing," the Doctor replied cryptically. He was pretty sure he wasn't supposed to say what it was until she unwrapped it.

"What kind of thing?"

"A thingy thing."

"What kind of thingy thing?"

"Are you going to open it?"

She smirked and began tearing open the paper. "A box? Is this pass the parcel?"

"Keep going."

She pulled the lid off the box to reveal its contents. Inside glistened a cloudy silver statue, glowing a little onto her face. The Doctor watched her slim fingers lift it out gingerly.

"What is it?" she asked again, though this time her voice was softer and more earnest as she admired the small statue that depicted a reindeer-like creature that possessed wings and three antlers.

"It's made of Lancanite. A relic from a distant planet you would never be able to pronounce. Lancanite has a very special property. It can tell the weather."

The statue began to glow brighter, a harsh white light.

"What's that mean?"

"Ah-it's going to snow. A lot."

Clara smiled again and the Doctor felt it warm him even though the heater was failing and the room was beginning to chill.

Oh, by fish custard, that smile was going to murder his sanity one day.


	17. A Coward is Brave

###NEE17

A/N hey people. Thanks for all the reviews. Keep being awesome! :)

Please excuse me today as I'm feeling a little resentful that I do not live in San Diego and therefore did not get to go to the amazing comic con although I have watched all the videos of it. I'm still jealous. (I could have met matt smith! :()

I know I'm being ungrateful, a little ashamed of myself to be honest. But I mean really, they showed the 50th trailer. THE. FREAKING. FIFTIETH. TRAILER.

Also matt, when asked why he was leaving, put his head in his hands, crying, "I don't know I don't know I've made a mistake!"

IF YOU CHANGE YOUR DECISION NOW WE WON'T JUDGE YOU.

Continuing my rant, I actually have something worthwhile to say which is that I have redone my regeneration fic due to a new wave of Eleven and Whouffle feels. Please check it out and I'll love you forever!

Btw you'll all love this chapter. It took me forever to write though.

•••

ARTIE

"Angie!" Artie hissed, tightening his coat against the biting cold. "What are you doing out here? Everyone's downstairs."

"If you _must_ know, Artie, I am preparing for step 5."

"What?"

Angie rolled her eyes. "Of the plan? Look, just hold the stepladder."

He took hold of the little ladder and craned his neck up to where Angie was tying a bushel of mistletoe to the slats above the doorway landing.

"That's not going to work."

"You, Artie, are a brother of very little faith."

"It's got nothing to do with faith. It's got to do with how neither Clara nor the Doctor are superstitious enough to believe in that mistletoe stuff and it probably wouldn't work anyway."

Angie jumped down off the stepladder. "It's Christmas. Everything changes."

Artie didn't like the look of her smile.

"Come on, Artie. You really shouldn't stay out in the cold. It's Christmas!"

•••

DOCTOR

The remainder of the night carried on with the Doctor chatting to almost everyone in the room, about Christmas, knitting, bow ties and his job as a 'secret agent'. He had to admit, he had a lot of fun fabricating this other-life. Even if some people weren't too amused by his jokes.

He found himself feeling more than a little disappointed when all the guests began leaving with joyful Merry Christmases and retrieving of coats. Especially since it meant that he, too, would be expected to go.

He waited until the very last moment, when he was the last one left, to stand up and brush down his waistcoat.

"Alright, then. Better be off. All that stuff about aliens attacking on Christmas- it's true you know. They find it a weakness. Best go and make sure no one tries to invade!"

Clara laughed. "Fine, then. Back off to your snog box."

"It is _not_ a snog box! Am I just repeating myself here?"

Clara raised her eyebrows at him, and he sputtered. "It's really not!" But the reason he was spluttering was that it maybe kind of sometimes was. And that he maybe kind of sometimes wanted it to be. Well, that was a new thought. He'd never thought something like that before. He _shouldn't_ think something like that. Stop it, Doctor.

He blinked and smiled back at Clara before heading to the door. She accompanied him out onto the doorstep and they were both welcomed by winter's cold hands.

"It's snowing. Just like the thing said," Clara observed.

"A thing? Are you going to call my Christmas present a _thing_?"

"Well, that's what _you_ called it."

"That's true."

There was silence for a minute or so, in which the Doctor gathered every ounce of his courage scraped from every corner of himself.

_Go on, you coward. Oh don't be like that. You know you are one. Always running. Scared. Scared to get close, scared to love, scared to lose. That's who you are, Doctor. You're a coward. Always have been. Always will be. _

_But maybe not tonight_.

"Clara. I got you something else," he said slowly, looking out at the drifting snow, the way each flake glistened in the golden lights of the house before coming to rest on the ground, melting into a perfect circle of water to reflect back the glow of the moon.

He saw her turn to him. "You did?"

"I did."

Clara didn't ask him what it was. She didn't pressure him. She could obviously see that something was running through his mind. She most always knew what he was feeling, even if he didn't know himself. He was thankful for that.

Hesitantly, his mind shaking but his fingers strong, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small, velvet blue box.

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a second and turned.

"Here."

Clara looked at the box and frowned a little, a confused frown, before taking it from him. He felt a tremendous weight lift from him as she held it in her hands, and slowly opened it.

He watched her blink rapidly a few times as she glimpsed what lay inside, watched her beautiful face bloom into a tiny little smile.

"And what's this?"

"It's the TARDIS key," he replied, softly, gingerly, words like walking on ice. "It's a promise. It's a wish. It's a door. It's something. It's me. And I'm giving it away. Again."

She didn't speak, just looked at him with those warm brown eyes, and he felt like they were seeing his soul. His soul was not something he wanted people to see. It was a black thing. It hardly ever saw the light.

"But what does it mean for you?"

Clever question. Brilliant question.

"It means...a hope. A question. A guarantee. So the universe doesn't take you, too."

"Too."

"Too," he repeated, trying not to remember. But remembering was a duty to those he had lost, and it was impossible to fight it. All those people. Rose, left behind in a parallel universe, never to be seen again by his eyes. Martha, who had left him because of his unfailing arrogance and ignorance, though he really had loved her, as he loved all his companions. Donna, who exited his life so cruelly and suddenly that it was like the universe was punishing her for being its saviour. River, gave her life for him, knew his name, and ended, too. The Ponds, Amy and Rory, taken in a wicked twist of fate, with a letter and a desperate goodbye. He didn't ever think he'd cry as much as he did that day, that dark day. But then, then there came Clara.

Then again, if he lost her, he thought, there would be no tears. Because there would not be enough life in him to cry.

"I won't go. Not ever."

The Doctor smiled. That was what they all said. "Sometimes it's not your choice."

"It's always your choice. The universe is not some great evil being, Doctor. Sometimes, people stay. Sometimes you don't have to say goodbye. Not every time. But some. And we all have to live through the dark days for the sake of the light ones. Even if one dark day ends them all."

Funny, wasn't it, how in one moment of one day of your life someone can say something that changes your whole perspective. Even 1300 years of it. Funny how one person could manage to say the one thing, in all of your days, that you really needed to hear.

The Doctor took her hand and they stepped out into the flurry of snow.

He rested his hand on her cheek, lightly stroking her soft skin.

_She won't go, she won't go._

_She'll stay, she'll stay._

_Maybe._

And in a flash of that moment, the maybe lost all meaning and the definitely came true.

_Coward. Coward. Coward. _

_Be brave for once. Just for once. For Clara. Be brave._

He bent his head down as she stood up on her tiptoes, and he felt something glisten in his eyes as something else glistened in hers.

And suddenly, they were kissing, hesitant, at first, but growing and living and thriving as anything and everything does.

_He was kissing Clara._

He flapped his arms around a bit, not exactly sure where to put them, and almost pulled back as he fully realised what was happening. This face had never been quite that good about dealing with this kind of thing.

They were _kissing_, actually _kissing_- had he leaned in first or had she? He thought probably she had but now it was happening. Maybe it didn't matter- it felt so undeniably _real_. He knew they had before. Little ones. Spur of the moment. Twisted emotions. It seemed like those didn't count. Not compared to this. This moment where his heart was still black and dark and cold, but there was a fire growing, flickering, inside and maybe Clara was /right/, maybe fate wasn't such a malicious, cruel thing.

Time drew out long and slow and the Doctor was more than aware that her hands were buried in his hair and his hand had found its way to curl

around her neck- although the other one still hung by his side, what was he supposed to do with it?- and the key in its box was somewhere beneath them, forgotten in the snow.

"Oh my God! Yuck!"

The Doctor jumped backwards as Clara mirrored him, both of them stumbling in the wet grass.

He looked around wildly, finally settling on the open first floor window of the house, where Angie was leaning, scolding Artie with, "Shut up, you idiot!"

He felt himself going redder than anything that ever was red. And he had seen some extremely red things in his travels.

"What are you two _doing_?" Clara said angrily, having apparently regained control of the situation.

"We were-um..." Artie began.

"Dad told us to take down the stockings off the windowsills! Can we help it if you two were just snogging in the snow for all the street to view?"

"How long have you been up there?"

"Oh don't worry, only long enough to see the end of...whatever that was. Not really something I _wanted_ to see!"

"You weren't supposed- oh look just go downstairs and I'll deal with you later!"

Angie laughed as she retreated from the window, and the Doctor straightened his bow tie, blinking nervously. That definitely was /not/ an ideal situation.

They stood facing each other for a few seconds, in which the Doctor looked an everything but her and coughed awkwardly. He caught sight of a bundle of leaves tied to the rail above the landing, mistletoe, and felt himself go even more red as Clara saw them too. Soon the silence became much too intrusive and he clenched his hands together, stumbling away.

"So, uh, good night!" he tried to sound as nonchalant as possible as he backed down the path towards where the TARDIS was parked, snatching up his fez from where it had been knocked to the ground.

He heard Clara sigh softly, and gave her a small wave and a quick nervous smile before darting into the TARDIS and leaning back against the doors as he shut them behind him.

He let out a deep breath and ran his hands through his hair.

Now _that_ had been an interesting day.


	18. Voices in Heads and Shadows in Eyes

##NEE18

A/N despite how it may seem, there is an overall storyline and climaxy building-upy thing to this story. These next couple of chapters is where it sort of starts. Kind of. Ish. Not really but...oh whatever here's the chapter please review and thank you for all the previous reviews, favourites and follows.

•••

ANGIE

"Artie, I believe that you are adopted." Angie sighed.

"No I'm not!"

"Then how on earth can we share some of the same DNA and you be still so intolerably stupid?"

"Shut up! What did you expect me to say? It was disgusting!"

Angie rolled her eyes. "It was the entire point of the plan, stupid."

"Still."

Angie sighed again. "Why were you even up there? Dad sent me to look for you so you got me in trouble with Clara, too!"

"I was catching the snow, it's for my science experiment. You know, the one I got from Santa."

Angie rolled her eyes. Science experiment. Her annoying stupid little brother.

•••

DOCTOR

The Doctor clenched his fingers around the TARDIS console and hung his head, closing his eyes against the bright and flickering lights.

What should he do, what should he do? He was over 1300 years old, a Time Lord, had fought wars and led armies, travelled all through time and space and had no idea what to do about Clara.

She had kissed him, or not, really, because he had kissed her back. Why? He didn't know. He couldn't afford to do this again. He couldn't afford to do something as compromising as fall in love, when there was so much at stake.

But as he thought, he saw that he had already. A long time ago. But, being the man that he was, he had hidden it in shadow. Just as he did everything else.

The voice of another deeper, darker, colder, more reasonable part of himself whispered softly in his ear.

_Shut up, shut up. It's not true. It can't be true._

But it was.

_No, you idiot. Look what you've done now. You said you wouldn't lose anyone again. You said you wouldn't get close again. You were lonely, and you met Clara. A puzzle, an enigma. Clever, brave, funny, pretty, yes. But that is all._

But it really, really wasn't. Clara was so much more than that, now.

_Shut up. Don't. No, Doctor. You can't. Idiot. Building yourself up for another loss. You live forever, and they die so easily. Another love, another loss. Another life, another death._

He couldn't lose her. Not Clara.

_You see? Stupid. Ignorant. Impulsive. Emotional. Too human. Stop it now. Before it grows._

But it already has grown.

_Halt it. Quickly. You don't have enough left in youYou don't have enough left in you to survive another loss. The Ponds... You were too close to them. When you lost them, you spent years living in the clouds. Watching. Not doing. Not helping. Not saving. Mourning and guilting and regretting. You won't survive another._

Why does it matter? I don't have long left anyway. 1300 years, why not make at least some of it mean something to me now.

_You lost faith in the universe last time. You lost your only saviour. You lost hope. It almost killed you._

But then the universe gave me Clara.

_And then she died. Twice. She'll die again. You can't make bargains with the universe. The universe cares nothing for you, no matter how many times you've saved it._

It doesn't matter. I have Clara, I have the TARDIS, I have all of time and space. I will continue to save it, I will keep myself, I will keep my mercy. As long as I have them.

_You outlive everything and everyone. You will make her a monster just as you did all the others. Your cold heart, your darkness, your desperation, your rage and hate and intensity, it's contagious. You will be the death of her_.

Don't. Please.

_Pleading now, are we? Fine. Go. Go. Live and love. Then lose. As you always do. Your tears will burn holes in existence. The universe will mourn you, demon_.

I am not a demon.

_You will be. Once she's gone. But, go. And when her death lets loose the dark in your soul, know that the damage you cause the universe is all your doing. When you turn from this, a saviour, a god, into a raging devil, know that it was by your own choice._

The Doctor sprang up from the console, and opened his eyes, letting out a deep breath. It was a Wednesday, and he was going to see Clara. The rest would follow. Whatever happened now, it was on his head. And it was hard to think of the future when the present was so beautiful.

•••

CLARA

When Clara heard the distinctive rattling whirr that preceded the Doctor's arrival on her doorstep, she stood still for a moment.

Did it really matter, anymore? Would it make any difference if she continued to attempt her trick, her failing trick, to not fall in love? Had it even ever worked? Because it sure as hell wasn't working now. Was there anymore point in lying to herself?

No, there really wasn't.

So she put down her book, pulled on a coat, and opened the door.

The TARDIS stood on the glistening grass before her, and she didn't hesitate before stepping up to it and pushing open the door.

The Doctor was crouching under the console, wearing comically large eye goggles and fiddling with some sparking wires.

"So where is it this time, eh?" she asked, walking around the controls. "King Tutankhamen Egypt? London 3976? Some distant planet where it rains gumdrops?"

"Oh, you wouldn't like King Tut. Quite resentful, he was, and he definitely didn't like me. And London 3976 is a terrible year, nothing happens at all, except for that incident with the Ood and exploding factories. But that's boring. Just a bunch of politics. Although there _is_ a planet where it rains liquid tainted with 76% glucose, but the atmosphere is mostly methane."

"Fine, then. What did you have in mind?"

"Jottrein!"

"Sorry?"

"Jottrein! Roitom galaxy. The best markets in the universe!"

"You're taking me to a market?"

"Yes, a market, the greatest market that ever there was in the history of markets!" the Doctor exclaimed, taking his eye off the bits of wire just log enough for them to catch on fire.

"Sounds like Akhaten," Clara commented as he used his coat to smother the small flames.

"No it's- oh Blimey this is my favourite jacket!- it's very different! Classic market, you know, with stalls from all over the universe. Psychics and jugglers and those cheap plastic key rings you buy but forget about and don't see again for forty years!"

"Sounds exactly like Akhaten. Minus the soul eating monster."

"Oh-just-I'll buy you some Jottreinian style fairy floss! It's delicious. _Almost_ as good as fish custard, but not quite."

Clara rolled her eyes. Fairy floss. She really did love his silly, almost childlike tendencies. "Fine. Now are you done with your pyrotechnics?"

"Yes, done," he jumped up from his position on the floor, hindered by the fact that he was still under the console, and slammed his head into the metal. "Ow! Bli-ow-for the love of-owowow. Ah, okay," he muttered, clutching his head and using his free hand to pull some levers on the console. "Jottrein. Here we come."

The TARDIS jolted a little before a distinctive whirring echoed through the room, followed by the book that always signaled their arrival at their destination, whether it was the one they had specified or not.

"This had better be Jottrein and not some World War 1 trench," Clara said to the Doctor as he headed to the doors.

"Don't blame me, blame the TARDIS! I mean, actually, don't. She doesn't need more reason not to like you."

"Why does she hate me, anyway? Is she jealous?"

"Jealous? Well, perhaps. But she usually likes everyone, except maybe Jack but he...he was interesting."

"Who's Jack?"

"An old friend. You know," he replied vaguely, pulling open the doors and stepping outside. Clara followed soon after, looking around at their surroundings.

The Doctor was right. This was nothing like Akhaten. Akhaten was a a celebrations, like a tourist destination. But here she was immersing herself completely into another culture, thousands of other cultures, all different and unknown to her.

Before them spread row upon row of stalls and stands, some nothing more than cloths on the ground and some giant architectural wonders. They glistened and shone and curved in glass, steel, wood and stone, then other materials completely alien to her. Colours abound glowed in every corner, the scene as bright and vibrant as the stars. And then there were the people, or not-people, or whatever they were. For there were not only humans, in fact humans were scarce in the bustle of the crowds. Some of them she recognised from Akhaten, or other places they had been. But much more she had never seen before, beautiful and terrifying in their diversity and uniqueness. Many were humanoid, but with purple skin, or with tentacles erupting from their mouths, or branches sprouting from their heads like hair, or the facial features of cats. But then there were others that she couldn't even begin to describe, she had nothing to compare them to.

"I told you you'd like it!" the Doctor said pointedly.

"You weren't wrong."

"Come alo- let's go, Clara. There's so much to see!" he jerked his head at the crowd.

She took his hand, without really thinking about it, and it surprised them both. She saw the Doctor glance at their intertwined fingers and watched his eyes darken for just a second. That expression again. The one she was saw he had seen in her, before. And now she was seeing it in him.

She had seen it often enough that now she knew what it meant. Usually the Doctor could shield himself, mask his emotions. But this must be so strong that sometimes, in tiny little moments, he wouldn't be able to stop his thoughts showing in his eyes.

It was not solely a look of uncertainty, or regret, or guilt, or loss. It was all of these things, but one above all else.

More than anything, it was a look of fear.

The Doctor was afraid.


	19. Silence Amid the Fray

A/N sorry this is so late guys. Stuff's happened that's not too good. I'm not even sure how I got this chapter up. I can't guarantee how frequent my updates will be over the next few weeks, it really depends on if all of the stuff that's happened lately will stop me from writing, or if I'll try to block it all out by writing more. Again, I'm sorry guys. Just feeling really sad and angry about something I won't burden you with. Either way, thank you to my reviewers and hopefully you can enjoy this chapter.

•••

Clara could barely do anything but look and smile at everything around her, so many things to see and hear and do that it was almost too much to process.

"Aha! Look, there's some Raxacoricofallopatorians, hope they behave. And over there, Judoons! Though I call them the Stupid Space Rhino Cops. And, oh, Oods!" they stopped before a small stall that displayed hundreds of glowing orbs, where a few of the tentacle-faced creatures where standing, holding an orb each in their hands.

"Hello, there!" he said to one.

The Ood tilted its (male or female?) head at him, and a synthetic sounding voice issued from the globe it held. "Good day. May I be of service?"

Clara found the orbs and robot voice a little creepy, even if she didn't look at the incandescent green eyes. But the Doctor seemed to think them friendly, and she trusted him. Though, if asked, she could never say exactly why. There were quite a lot of reasons for her not to.

"Oh, no no. We're just wandering around a little. Thought I might stop to chat. Love an Ood, I do. But, say, could you tell me where the Yrik stall is?"

"The Yrik stall is located twenty three stalls to your left," the Ood replied.

"Ah, yes, thank you. Come on, Clara," the Doctor heading off in the indicated direction as she hurried to catch up with him.

"What's the...Yrik stall?"

"Well, the inhabitants of the planet of Yrik are very well known for their cuisine. Some of it is...interesting, but you have to try it! Second best chefs in the galaxy."

"Not the first? Really, Doctor, that's a little slack of you," Clara teased.

"What-but-I-oh that was sarcasm, wasn't it? I've mastered the _use_ of sarcasm, but have never been able to get the hang of detecting it. Ah, here we are!"

They stopped in front of a large building of sandstone, with strange curving walls and windows that would have looked quite odd on earth but were not out of place in this mess of otherworldly architecture and goods.

"Shall we go in?" the Doctor held out his elbow.

"We shall," Clara took his arm as they entered. As soon as they were through the doors she was overwhelmed by the intoxicating and diverse aromas that gathered in the building, just as much as the plates of food that steamed and simmered on stands all around them. People were prancing around, sampling all the ranges on offer, and Clara found that she could not wait to try some. This was exactly what she loved, the new, the unknown, the undiscovered. This was exactly what she had dreamed ever since she was little, traveling the world, seeing the sights, experiencing the cultures, tasting the cuisines. Except now, with the Doctor, she wasn't just exploring the world. She was exploring the universe.

She knew the smile that pulled at her lips was wide and joyful and childlike, but this was really the reason she was here. The reason she had agreed to travel with the Doctor. And also, she saw that, out of the corner of her eye, the he was looking at her and smiling just as widely.

"What are these?" she pointed to a platter of red leaves nestling bundles of smoking yellow stuff that looked a little bit like cous cous but probably wasn't.

"I'm not sure..." the Doctor leaned down to inspect it. "But it's all edible. May as well try it."

Clara shrugged and took one of the bundles. She looked at the Doctor, scrutinizing his own, and took a small bite.

The first thing she thought was _a bit like chilli prawns, minus the prawns_ the second was _this is actually kind of delicious_ and the third was less of a thought than an impulse as she snatched up one of the glasses of water that sat by the platter and gulped, trying to dowse the fire on her tongue.

"Clara? Are you alright?"

Clara had to laugh, the concerned look on his face was too sincere. "It's just really spicy, it's fine."

"Sure?"

"_Yes_. Don't eat it, though."

"Well, I did tell you that they were a little strange."

"Hey, dare you to try this one!" Clara pointed at a plate of slimey little grey things on sticks that looked a bit like liver, or squid, but most definitely weren't.

The Doctor made a face. "Really? I dare _you_," he whined.

"Nuhuh. I dared you first. No takesie-backsies," she added with a smirk.

"Oh, _fine_," he muttered, screwing up his face as he picked one up gingerly and glared at it. "If I die from eating this disgusting and possibly poisonous thing, it'll be your fault."

"You're the one who said it was all edible, Mr Overdramatic."

He transferred his glare to her, and she just smiled and raised her eyebrows at him.

He seemed to give in, and took one last look at the bit of whatever-the-hell-it-was before sticking it in his mouth, whole.

He sputtered for a bit, blinking wildly, before snatching a napkin from a nearby stand and spitting the contents of his mouth into it. "That is the single most disgusting thing I have ever tasted!"

"Almost as disgusting as _you_?" Clara said back as he scraped his tongue with his fingers.

"More so! It was like bacon, and apple sauce!" he shivered.

Clara laughed loudly, attracting even more attention of the other occupants of the stall. "You really are an alien, aren't you?"

"Well, so are you! How about I buy you some of that fairy floss? Can't go wrong with fairy floss."

He followed him to a nearby counter, where a kind of blueish alien with at least six identifiable limbs flickered and faded in and out of sight, like it was struggling not to be invisible.

The Doctor exchanged a few words with him and was rewarded with a stick of brilliant pink fairy floss the size of his head. The only things that distinguished it from normal, earth fairy-floss was that it was glowing.

He presented it to her with an expectant grin, and she took it dubiously. "Phosphorescent fairy floss?"

"Yes, of course! It contains a special ingredient only found on Jottrein, which, incidentally, contains phosphorous. Though it has specially treated so that it isn't fatal."

"Not fatal?"

"Er, no. Don't think so."

"I feel so reassured."

The Doctor gave her a look, so she just raised an eyebrow, pulled off a tiny piece of the pink fluff, and popped it in her mouth.

"Second most delicious thing I've ever tasted," she commented truthfully. "Though I dare to think what all the sugar and phosphorous is going to do."

"Told you you'd like it," he said smugly as they exited the stall.

"You also told me that Wibley's World of Wonders is definitely not dangerous, and look how that turned out."

"What's an army of cybermen to the most delicious fairy floss in existence?" he asked incredulously, waving his arms about.

Clara laughed as he took her by the arm and pulled her through the crowds into the midday light.

She looked around at all the diverse people walking and running and rolling and squelching around, caws and shouts and whispers chasing around her ears in a billion different voices and a billion different dialects, although she understood them all.

Behind one particular stall that sold tshirts advertising other galaxies, she saw one particular humanoid being that caught her eye, and not for any flamboyant aesthetics.

It was tall in a dark suit, and pale-skinned, with a shadowed face with eyes deeply set and a mouth that reminded her of a twisted scream. Whatever it was, it was still. Everyone else in the vicinity was rushing about, chattering and calling out their wares. But this one, it was just standing. A lull in the crowd. And it was staring straight at her.

"What are you looking at, Clara?" the Doctor pulled her elbow gently, urging her to follow him with a jerk of the head. She blinked and looked at him, he was wearing a slightly concerned expression.

"Sorry?"

"You stopped. What were you looking at?"

"Nothing. I wasn't looking at anything."

He furrowed his brow at her, what was he so worried about?

"So, where are we going?"

"Oh, er, you know, wandering..." he muttered, looking more than a little preoccupied as he frowned around at the roiling crowd.

Clara followed his gaze and saw, through a rare gap in the continued weave of bodies, a pale face.

The one she had glimpsed before. Just a few seconds ago. But, then, she had _forgotten_. How could she have forgotten? Its twisted features and cold complexion stood out eerily among the others, and she had simply went on as if she had never seen it?

"Ah! Over here, Clara!"

She flicked her eyes back over to the Doctor's eager yanking on her hand and ran along behind him, dodging and ducking to keep up.


	20. The Hanged Man

A/N PETER CAPALDI PETER CAPALDI PETER FREAKING CAPALDICAPALDICAPALDICAPALDIPETERTWELVECAPALDIDOCT ORCAPALDINOOOELEVENCAPALDIAAAAAAAAH!

*hyperventilates madly into paper bag*

Okay I'm calm I'm calm well calm as I'll get because PETER CAPALDI. Does this mean I have to change my regeneration fic? :S. oh well. Funny thing is, I pictured twelve being quite similar. You know, sallow cheeked, curlyish hair. Just ginger. And perhaps a tad younger but Whatevs he's 1300 anyways.

So what do you guys think about the new Twelve? I personally think he'll be good, from what I've seen. I feel like he'll nail the dark!doctor especially. Really interested to see his personality. And outfit. And CATCHPHRASES! God this is my first regeneration and its so exciting. But Matty, you are my Doctor and I love you and I'll miss you so much god how do I handle all these conflicting emotions!

Okay basically I would love to hear what you guys think I love a chat. :) might cheer me up a bit cause I still feel really sad and stuff cos of that thing I mentioned last time. So yeah, please drop me a line! Thank you everyone!

•••

DOCTOR

The Doctor skidded to a stop before the little stall, concealed behind misty purple drapes, and pretended he wasn't hyper aware that Clara was leaning against his shoulder.

"A good old classic fortune teller!

"And this is where you launch into a detailed and tangent-ridden explanation of how fortune telling is possible due to some mind-bending energy leaking through the fabric of the universe?" Clara suggested jokingly.

"Of course not! That would be unacceptable. This is probably just like on earth, a batty old lady with cards and a funny crystal ball. Unless, in fact, they have had sufficient interaction with an unstable time rift..."

Clara made an amused sound as he ducked under the draping cloths into the stall, which was dim and glittering with trinkets.

He peered at the little objects lining the shelves and hanging from the tent roof, showing the more interesting ones to Clara. He was holding a curious looking orb when a figure emerged from a shadowed corner and he jumped in surprise, fumbling as he very nearly dropped the item.

"Morning, ma'am!" he said to the short and skinny woman who was barely distinguishable from the purple cloth walls.

She blinked up at him as he smiled, and only pointed crookedly at the little globe.

"Your happiness is strong, young man. It has awakened the laetus orb."

He smiled at her, "Oh, how refreshing it is to be called young!" and glanced back at the sphere. It was beginning to glow, just a little, and unintelligible whispers were emanating from it.

He had never seen anything like this before. "Laeta- what, eh?"

The lady didn't answer, only sidled away to another corner of the stall.

"Well..." he muttered, shooting a glance at Clara, who was smirking at him.

"What?"

"Mr I-Know-The-Name-Of-Every-Star-In-The-Universe can't stand to be foiled by the mystery of a little ball, can he?"

"I don't know /every/ star! Just some. Most. Almost all. A thousand years, okay? What else do you do?"

She let out a short laugh, that light, untainted, pure sound that was more representative of _Clara_ than anything of her appearance.

Several voices singing a beautiful chord crescendoed through the stall, and they both looked at the orb, which was now much brighter and presumably producing the sound.

He hurriedly placed it back on a shelf, and the singing stopped abruptly, the light dying.

"Ooookay!" he rubbed his hands together. "Who wants their fortune told?"

The old lady reappeared at this statement, considerably more interested in them both now.

He brandished his psychic paper at her, and she widened her eyes comically.

"Of course, sir!" she said quickly, her voice losing most of its dreamy monotone.

"Yes, important people, that's us," he gave Clara a wink as the woman hurried back into the depths of the stall.

"If she really is psychic," Clara whispered, and the Doctor convinced himself he couldn't feel her breath on his neck. "won't she be able to tell we aren't...important people?"

He waved a flippant hand at her. "I sincerely doubt that she is. It's just a bit of fun! Who doesn't love having their fortune told?"

The woman reappeared and gestured for them to sit on tiny stools behind a table, on which rested several mysterious looking items.

He rubbed his hands together, "So what can you tell us?"

The woman gave him a glare, and gestured for him to hold out his palm. He obliged, raising his eyebrows at the way she inspected it. He always loved these novelty magics and mysteries.

"Your life will be a little shorter than most, I see here."

The Doctor couldn't let out a loud "Ha!" before biting his lip and resigning himself to casting smirks at a bemused Clara.

"Apologies," he muttered quickly to the glowering fortune teller.

"Your past has been significantly free of emotional trauma. You have fallen in love too easily for your liking."

He snorted, "Significantly free of emotional trauma," he repeated, speaking loudly to stop her from elaborating on the second part. "Now _that_ is hilarious."

"I see you are not impressed with chiromancy."

"Not exactly, no."

She gave him an unreadable look and retrieved a deck of cards from the folds of her robes. The Doctor wondered what else she kept in there. Perhaps her pockets were bigger on the inside.

"I shall take a tarot reading, then. Shuffle these, each of you."

Clara took the cards and shuffled them with quick, practiced movements, before passing them to him with a smile. He smiled back and fanned out the cards, rippling them back and forth and from hand to hand.

"Show off," he heard her mutter, just as he looked up at her and promptly dropped all the cards to the ground, earning him a laugh.

"Sorry, sorry!" he hurriedly gathered up the cards and handed them back to the fortune teller.

She murmured something under her breath and sat for a moment with the deck between her hands before holding it out to Clara.

"Take the one that calls to you."

She raised an eyebrow but danced her fingers along each card held out before her, settling on a specific one before pulling it out to see what she had chosen.

"The knight of cups. Clever, you are. Very clever. And caring, loyal. Too much so, sometimes. And a bit of a dreamer. Though perhaps...you have found your dream?"

Clara's eyes widened. She laughed nervously, not her usual light laugh that made her eyes shine, but a short, hollow chuckle. "I don't think so."

"Perhaps not quite yet," she turned her watery gaze to the Doctor, who couldn't help but feel a little more interested in this woman. It sounded like what she had said about Clara, at least in his experience and going by her reaction, was true to the letter.

"Who are you?"

"It is of no consequence. Answer the card that calls you."

He stared at the cards she fanned out for him, but they were just cards. Just ordinary tarot cards.

He took one between his fingers, and flipped it over.

"The knight of cups," the woman murmured confusedly. "This is not your card."

"No?"

"No. It is hers. You will have to choose again."

He shrugged at Clara and gave the card back, shuffled the deck, and took another as she held it out.

It was the knight of cups again.

The woman frowned, and snatched it from him. "I will have to do a full reading. Shuffle these again."

He obliged, not bothering with his fancy tricks anymore and more intent on the woman. Because that was all that she was. An ordinary woman. This couldn't possibly be real, could it? No matter how accurate Clara's reading was. This kind of thing didn't exist. There was no possible scientific explanation. And yet, how else? 1300 of traveling through time and space and he had not even begun to see everything. However much he hated to admit it, there was still so much he did not know.

"Find the cards that call to you, and place them on the table in the places I show you," she ordered. He ran his fingers over the deck, and, not really finding any that 'called' to him, picked six random cards and put them where she indicated, face down.

The cards formed a cross in the middle of the table, the two of them watching intently as the woman turned over the bottom card.

"The high priestess. Great wisdom, knowledge and understanding of the world around you. But this makes you impatient, and blinds you from the most beautiful things."

Coincidence. Of course. Over a thousand years, of course a few of those cards would apply to him. Coincidence.

She turned the card at the top.

"Justice. You believe strongly in mercy and forgiveness, even for those who have been less than just."

Another correct card. They manipulate their words, don't they? Make them vague and applicable to just about anyone.

She flipped the card to the left.

"Five of cups. You have experienced deep and resounding loss. Several times. Sorrow, guilt and regret plagues you."

Or perhaps this was one of those things. The things he just didn't know. The things he could never know.

She turned over the card to the right.

"Six of swords. You are on a journey. A long journey. Possibly never ending. A journey away from sorrow, away from evil. Your only hope is that harmony will prevail in the end."

He couldn't explain this. He couldn't understand it. Maybe there was no real explanation. A whim of the universe. Something.

Because it definitely was not just a coincidence.

She turned over the second last card.

"The lovers. But..." she hesitated. "This isn't right. It's reversed, meaning tainted happiness, uncertain love and relationships that can only end in sorrow. But the placing...just below the centre. The heart..." she paused. "Let me give you some advice. I will do this for free. This love, however deep and pure, /will/ end. One day, we all die. There is no exception. I know so much about you merely from a few cards. On that day, the day it ends...I will pity you."

He coughed awkwardly, and now it was his turn to give a fake chuckle. He avoided Clara's gaze, and tapped the last remaining card. "Let's get this done with, hey?"

The woman stared unwaveringly into his eyes for a few seconds too long, but he found he couldn't look away. Finally, she rested her hand on the single card, and he felt Clara tense beside him.

She knew, too, that this was no ordinary nonsense tarot reading.

The picture on the underside of the card was of a pale man, hanging by the neck from a tightened noose.

"The hanged man. The paradox card. To escape the past you must stop running. To be strong you must embrace vulnerability. To find love and happiness, you must first go through pain and grief."

Clara was silent beside him, but the Doctor was scrutinizing the fortune teller's expression.

"That's not all, is it?"

The woman hesitated, glancing at the knight of cups- Clara's card- which lay on the corner of the table.

"There is another meaning. It's rare, but I sense it may apply in your... interesting case."

"And what's that?"

The woman raised her eyes to look at him through the shadows cast by her hood.

"Sacrifice."

A/N heheheh. Foreshadowing. Gotta love it. Btw I got all this palm reading and tarot card stuff from good old google, so the meanings and things are actually real in psychic-land. Thanks everyone for reviewing so far and please review again if it so suits. I love hearing all your feedback!


	21. Running Away

A/N hey guys! Here's another chapter. Thank you SO SO SO MUCH for all the reviews. They really motivate me to get up and write, and make me so happy (especially since I've been feeling pretty sad lately). So please, all you amazingly lovely people, please leave your thoughts and feedback. It's actually the best thing ever. Thank you everyone and enjoy the chapter!

•••

The Doctor stood up with such force that the whole stall rattled, and several tarot cards spun off the table, fluttering down to the ground in mad spirals.

"Good day, ma'am," he nodded stiffly before turning to swiftly step outside. Clara followed, jogging to catch up as he weaved through the crowd at a formidable pace, before slowing beside her.

"Enough of that psychic gobbledygook, eh?"

She wasn't quite sure what to say. They both knew that it had been much more than just 'gobbledygook'.

"Doctor, are y-"

"Oh, would you look at that?" he pretended not to have heard her, pointing to their left as something she could not see, being shorter than most everyone else in the vicinity. "I can't simply take you to Jottrein and deprive you of the sight of the Tranick mountains!"

He dragged her through a gap between the stalls, sprinting among the crowd. Always so stubborn, he was. If he didn't want to tell you something, it was almost impossible to question him about it.

The packed rows of stalls began to lessen, and the crowd began to thin, and suddenly they were both standing on the brink of a cliff, and the sounds of the market were carried towards them dim and distorted, tossed around by a growing wind.

"The Tranick mountains. The reason for the site of the Jottrein market, and the gem of this solar system," the Doctor announced, sweeping his arms out in a 'look and be amazed' gesture.

Clara knew this was just an attempt to divert her attention from his strange actions and the words of the fortune teller, but the sight before them really was breathtaking.

The ground dropped smoothly to a flat, rocky plain, dotted by tall, thin trees with no branches. And then in the distance, probably hundreds of kilometers away but able to be seen by the clear air of this planet, rose three magnificent mountains, so tall and wide they were almost incomprehensible, reaching far into the sky and fading into the air. She didn't think the crests would be visible from the ground at all, even on a clear day. They were like sentinels, gods, guarding and peering down on everything this side of the planet. Rendering everything else next to insignificant.

"Fourth tallest mountains in the universe."

"_Fourth_ tallest?"

"Of course. Well, maybe fifth. Well, maybe twenty fifth. Point is, they're big. The locals devoted an entire religion to them. Still do, actually. I think."

She felt him sling an arm across her shoulders, and only just then remembered the situation they were in. The fortune teller had been telling the truth, they were not safe, and the Doctor knew something.

She turned to him, and saw his gaze was fixed firmly on the spot where the mountains disappeared into oblivion.

"You're going to have to tell me sometime, I know something's wrong."

"No, no. Nothing's wrong. Everything's fine. Peachy," he glanced at her, smiling too widely.

"I know you. You forget that sometimes, but I do. So stop prancing around and tell me what's wrong."

He was getting flustered now. "I...I can't-"

"Doctor, if you don't tell me right now what that lady was on about, I swear I will-"

"No! Clara, you don't understand!" he was backing away from her now, running his hands through his hair.

"I think I very well do understand! We're in danger, and there is something very wrong with you. And you're going to tell me. I've let you have secrets, everyone needs them. But I can't let you have this," she stepped towards him. "I want to help you, alright? But I can't do anything if you keep on just-"

"Secrets! Yes, everyone has them! You have them, I have...more than most. But that isn't the point!" his voice was louder now, slipping into that steady, low tone that usually meant that she had gone too far. "Secrets protect us, Clara! Secrets keep us safe!"

"We're not _safe_!"

He stopped, dropping his hands from where they gripped her shoulders. The fiercely protective look in his eyes was gone, replaced by something that terrified her, something like fear.

"Doctor, please, we aren't safe, we never are! Enough secrets, please, enough lies! I don't even know your name, you know. The Doctor. Doctor _wh_-"

Her words were abruptly muffled by the Doctor taking her by the shoulders and quickly kissing her. She froze for a second. Was this something they did now, the kissing thing?

But just as she had regained her composure, he jumped back from her quickly, and she saw he was just as surprised as she was.

"Sorry-I didn't-I mean I-sorry it's-um-well-er...I don't know why I...I shouldn't have, sorry-it wasn't right- I mean-er...it's not that I didn't like it- because I did...oh wait no...I don't know-um..."

She let him stutter, because it was mildly amusing.

He looked awkwardly down at his hands, and she saw that he was smiling crookedly to himself, even as his feet shuffled.

But the smile morphed, again, into clear horror.

He was staring at his left palm, where, marked in stark black against his pale skin, were four small lines.

He looked up at her, no longer mumbling and embarrassed, but eyes wide and mouth thin and terse.

"Clara," he said slowly. "Stay here for a moment. Don't move. Please. I'll be back, I just have to...find something."

The steadiness in his voice chased away all of the questions in her mind, so she nodded and watched as he darted in between the stalls.

There really was danger now. And not in some vague future. This was now. This was _here_.

And he wouldn't tell her what it was, or what it wanted.

More secrets.

She stood there as the minutes ticked by, and though she should probably follow him. He had told her to stay put, and she had obliged simply because of the warning in his voice. But maybe he was in trouble, maybe...

She was just stepping towards the spot he had disappeared when the man himself erupted from another corner of the clearing.

"Clara! Please trust me. Please. Take my hand, and run," he pleaded, his eyes wide and his breathing ragged in desperation.

The look in his eyes said more than his words, so she took his shaking hand, and ran.

They sprinted in between the stalls, ducking left and right, the Doctor frantic in his escape. What they were running from, she didn't know. But whatever it was, it scared him. And if it scared him, it must be truly frightening.

So she ran, ignoring the startled faces of all they pushed past, not bothering to squint through the crowd for some sign of an enemy. Because although the Doctor was hiding, he knew something she should know, he was _lying_ to her, she trusted him all the same.

She laughed hollowly to herself. And he told her she was smart.

•••

The Doctor ran faster than he had ever before, dodging and sprinting between the bustling crowds and around the shouts and whispers. Running from the danger behind them, running from his past and inevitable future.

Why was he bothering? He knew this was coming. He had always known. They couldn't be tricked forever. They were always going to find him. Why run? Why not just stop and let it happen, as it must?

_When we're holding on to something precious, we run. We run and run, fast as we can, and we don't stop running until we are out from under the shadow._

Clara. He had to keep her safe. If nothing else. She was precious. And as unstoppable as the oncoming shadow was, he couldn't let it take her.

He would never forgive himself for that.

The sight of the TARDIS standing tall on a small hill above the stalls was like the sight of someone thought long dead. The doors opened in anticipation of them, and he pulled Clara inside before locking them shut behind.

He set the coordinates in seconds, only letting himself breathe after they had begun on their course.

He looked down at his palm again, the four little black lines now six separate tallies. He had kept a pen in his pocket at all times in fear of this very situation, as he knew it would come. But he had hoped it wouldn't be so soon. He had hoped they would give him just a little more time.

"What are you afraid of?"

Clever Clara. Asking the real questions. "Some old enemies."

She waited, and he paused before continuing, "The Silence. A religious order, united in their quest to end my life. There's lots of those out there, actually, but these people...they don't care who stands in their way. I thought I'd tricked them, got rid of them for a while, at least. Maybe even destroyed any of their hopes of actually...killing me. I was wrong.

"They have come for me."

"They can't find you now, can they? We've left them behind."

"Oh, no. No no. We haven't left them behind. They'll find me soon enough."

"But-" she took a sharp breath. "What do the marks mean? A tally?"

"Of how many I've seen. Once you look away from them, you forget them. It's how you keep track," he ducked under the console and rummaged in one of the compartments, throwing out several sandwiches and a pair of red converse before he found what he wanted. "Here. Keep this on you at all times. If you see one, make a mark on your hand. And...hold still," he took her hand and injected the recorder into her palm. She took a pained breath in surprise.

"Sorry. Press that, and it records anything you say. If you see it blinking, it means you've left a message for yourself. Hopefully they won't go after you, but..." he trailed off.

He had been avoiding her eye, but now he couldn't ignore her gaze. "You aren't going anywhere, are you? You aren't going to do anything stupid?"

"I never do anything stupid."

She just raised an eyebrow as a reply.

"Okay, fine. But don't worry. I'll...we'll work something out. I tricked them once, I can do it again," he pulled open the TARDIS doors to reveal the Maitlands' front garden. Clara stepped out, but turned back to look at him with something concerned in her expression.

"Be careful, won't you?" he said to her. Though he knew she would. She wasn't arrogant, or impulsive. She was clever, she wouldn't willingly jump into any kind of danger. Not unless the situation direly required it.

"I will if you do."

He wasn't sure he could promise that. But he said so anyway. "I'll be careful. And I'll come back. I just...need to work out what they're doing."

"You'd better come back, chin boy."

He smiled and waved as she walked back up to the house and disappeared inside.

As soon as he was sure she was out of sight, he let himself close his eyes. Shutting the door, he leant back against the wood, tracing the grain with the tips of his fingers.

"I'll see you later, Clara," he whispered. "If I'm lucky."


	22. Can't think of a name help

A/N so I've been re watching series 4 and just realised how similar Clara and Martha are in character, more similar than Clara and any other companion. Of course, they are both very different at the same time. But it seems those two are the only ones to really question time travel, (Clara asking what time is made of, Martha asking how the TARDIS works) and the Doctor dismissed both of them quite bluntly, without a proper answer. They are both much more curious about the mechanics and theory behind traveling with the Doctor, and analyse situations more than the others. One of the differences between them, though, is that Clara respects the Doctor's secrets a bit more, probably because she has a few herself, and doesn't continue pressuring him for answers unless essential (like in TNOTD when she was yelling at him to explain what he said about her dying).

I think Martha and Clara are probably my two favourite companions for this reason, although there are hundreds of differences too that I won't go into.

So that's my hiatus rant of the day.

Thank you so much for all your reviews I mean they are just so amazing I love you people

Anyways bbye

just a warning there is swearing in this one soz

•••

CLARA

As soon as Clara clicked the front door shut, Angie was onto her.

"How was your /date/, Clara?"

She sighed. "Haven't we talked about this?"

"Nope."

"Angie, I don't think-"

"Is he a good kisser?"

"What?" Clara could hear the blatant incredulity in her own voice.

"I'm almost fourteen, Clara. So, is he?"

"I'm not talking about this, alright?" she attempted to sound dismissive, but could feel heat creeping slowly up her neck.

"So he is a good kisser!"

"I didn't say anything! And we're not..." she struggled for words. She couldn't seem to source her usual snappy remarks, or put much force into her glare.

"Oh really? Well, Christmas begs to differ. I knew you liked him."

"You what? Don't tell me this was all some little scheme of yours again, don't you remember last time? I had to apologise to your principal personally, and you got detention for a month!"

Angie smirked irritatingly. "So, he's officially your boyfriend now?"

"He's- I don't know!"

"Ooh, I see. Trouble in paradise?"

" Ex/cuse/ me?"

Angie burst into laughter, and Clara simply shook her head, retreating upstairs and out of the way of her snide comments.

She shut her bedroom door and sat down on the bed, looking at the small spot on her palm where the recorder had been injected. It was void of light, and her hands free of marks. But she couldn't help but worry.

What exactly was going on? She knew the Doctor had many enemies, almost all of them powerful and dangerous. But this one, the Silence, he acted like he didn't have a hope of defeating them. They were coming for him, and him alone. But they wouldn't spare anyone standing in their way.

Perhaps she shouldn't have let him go. Maybe he was out there, looking for them. Maybe they were out there, looking for him.

What if he didn't come back?

She couldn't even begin to contemplate that. Her, stuck in a little corner of 21st century earth, while he was trapped and dying somewhere and sometime she had no hope of getting to.

What had happened to her trick? It was supposed to protect her from this very thing. It had gotten lost somewhere, failed to have effect. And Angie and Artie's meddling wasn't exactly helping the situation.

She shouldn't have left him. She should have insisted she stay, for a while. Tried to get more information out of him, and worked out what he was planning. But, of course, she hadn't done that. She had trusted him, and she had let him go. Alone.

That was when he was at his most dangerous. Alone, and afraid.

Who knew what he would do?

•••

ANGIE

"Shit," Angie breathed, before looking around hurriedly to check that neither Clara, who would have given her a your-dad-said-not-to-say-that look, nor Artie, who would have run around the house yelling about how swear words are rude and he was going to tell on her, were present.

She jumped the last five steps and bent to gingerly pick her new iPhone, which she had just accidentally flung from the top of the staircase. To her surprise, it was completely intact. It had been a drop of at least ten feet, but she supposed that the Apple company had finally managed to design a model that could actually withstand minor falls.

She ran her finger along the screen, checking for scratches, and went into the living room. Artie, utterly engrossed in a projection of Saturn on his encyclopaedia-thing, didn't even glance up. She used the edge of her sleeve to wipe off a little smudge of dust the phone had collected on its trip down the stairs, and saw something flicker on the blank screen.

It was reflecting the scene of the backyard through the living room window, which was just a few camelia trees, some azaleas and a dying lawn. But there was something, an unfamiliar blur, beside that branch...

She whirled around, but the garden was devoid of anything but the usual under-watered plants. She blinked a few times and frowned. What was she doing? Why was Artie looking at her so strangely?

"What?" she snapped.

"You just spun around and ran to the window. Did you see a rabbit?"

"A what? No, what are you talking about, I'm..." she blinked again. She felt a bit funny, sick to her stomach and like her head was detached from her body.

"Nothing. It's nothing."

•••

It was two whole weeks later that the Doctor returned, and Angie was beginning to think that maybe there was 'trouble in paradise' as she had so jokingly mentioned to Clara.

When the 'vworp vworp' sound of the TARDIS appearing echoed from outside one Wednesday afternoon, both her and Artie exchanged a glance. She heard Clara's quick footsteps coming down the stairs even before the doorbell rang. Their following conversation was easily audible down the hallway.

"Clara! Are you alright? Is anything wrong?"

"I could ask the same about you."

"Me? I'm fine. I'm always fine," he laughed nervously.

Clara didn't say anything, or if she did it was very quiet. A second later she called into the living room, "Can you tell George when he comes back from the shop that I've gone out for a while? I'll be back in an hour or so."

She was about to holler back, when the Doctor hastily added, "Actually, we won't be going anywhere. Okay if I just drop in for some tea?"

He appeared in the doorway, with an irritated Clara trying to have an argument with him merely through eye movement.

"Hi, Doctor!" Artie jumped up.

"Hello Artie, Angie!"

"Come have a look at my science project!" Artie dragged the man out of the room without pause for consent, happily describing his experiment (something about frozen peas and convection currents or the like).

Angie caught Clara looking after the Doctor as he left the room, and snorted.

"Don't you dare..." she warned.

Angie held up her hands in her defense. "I didn't say anything! You're doing it all for me."

Clara glared, but not half as fiercely as she normally would have.

Finally, Artie returned with the Doctor in tow, who exchanged and interesting look with Clara.

"We'll just be /going/ now, won't we Doctor?" she said to him.

"Actually, I've got somewhere to be..." he glanced at Clara and coughed. "I mean...okay if I steal Clara from you for a bit?"

"Fine, perfectly fine," Angie replied, with a raised eyebrow.

After more than a few moments of awkward silence and scuffling, Clara retrieved her satchel and they both left, presumably off to some alien planet where they could snog in private. Or have an argument, old married couple style. Ha.

Angie retreated up to her room, she was still feeling a little sick and wanting to avoid Artie's prying. She moved towards the blinds that hung wonkily across her window, wanting to shield the room from the afternoon sun, and looked down at the yard.

The TARDIS disappeared from its place on the footpath, and, not a second later, something flashed under the oak tree on the nature strip. A silhouette, one that looked quite familiar. Short, slight, and the glow of the sun just illuminated her straight brown hair...no. No. It couldn't be. She had just left, hadn't she, in the TARDIS? How could she still be here?

She watched for a minute longer, and the figure darted out from beneath the leaves of the oak, peering around before running off down the street.

The deceptive afternoon glow and shaking shadows cast by the tree could not disguise the fact that the figure was, indeed, Clara.

•••

A/N heheh. There's something for all of you to speculate about. Thanks for reading (and perhaps reviewing?)

:)


	23. An Old, Cold Fire

A/N HeLlO! How's it going? Sorry this is late, I had life things :(. It doesn't help that my life is a permanent existential crisis.

Thanks heaps for the reviews everyone! You are all amazing. And my followers and favouriters too! In fact everyone who reads this! (but especially reviewers cos I love hearing from you)

I realise the last chapter raised a few questions, so my only response is: don't jump to any conclusions...

Anywayyyy, enjoy.

•••

THE DOCTOR

The Doctor was running. Nothing new there. It seemed he spent a large portion of his days running from one enemy or another, to one danger or another. Some days, the good days, there was someone to run beside him, too.

And today would have been one of the very good days, as Clara Oswald was beside him. Or, not beside him, but lying limply in his arms, head lolling onto his chest.

The day had began to be 'very good', he had successfully dodged Clara's unrelenting questions and arguments on the TARDIS and finally persuaded her to accompany him to 1st century Rome. It had been almost perfect, watching Clara laugh and chatter in awe of every exquisitely sculpted Roman god, every red- and gold-clad soldier, every aspect of the time and culture. He, too, through her, experienced just the same sense of wonder and discovery.

But of course, the TARDIS had not been totally accurate in its destination, the first sign of this being a wisp of smoke.

Small, curling into the clouds, could easily have been from a cooking fire. But then it gathered thicker and thicker, and with it rose cries, shouts, screams.

Strange, was it not, how even he could harbour some preconception of how events had unfolded, and how he could always be proved so completely, direly, wrong.

He had always thought that emperor Nero had started the Great Fire of Rome. He had, in fact, believed that he had inadvertently suggested the idea to the madman. But, obviously, old Nero had had some otherworldly assistance, whether he was aware of it or not.

It was simple, really, if he put the dots together. The Pyroviles had crashed in Pompeii years before, having plenty of time to recover and grow. They could easily have travelled to, say, Rome, in 64 CE.

So when a Pyrovile, in the burning magma flesh, rammed through a house at the end of the lane they were ambling down, he wasn't exactly surprised.

But that's not to say he actually had a plan.

So it was to the default plan: run to any and all things of interest and try not to die. They followed that plan pretty well, for a while. Found the base of molten rock and hot springs beneath the emperor's palace. Discovered that the three Pyroviles loose in the city had brought a few pieces of their crashed escape pod to Rome with them, and had used those parts and supplies from the palace to construct a machine that could take tiny particles of Pyrovile origin and concentrate them into the air, drastically increasing the psychic capabilities of human minds. And also converting them into beings of rock and fire to become part of the new Pyrovillian empire. The problem was that this time there was no volcano he could set off to destroy it and the Pyroviles together. And that was not very good at all.

After that, they had encountered one of the creatures themselves, and only just managed to disorientate it enough to fall into a fountain. And that was only a temporary solution.

It was Clara who started to feel the concentrated effects of the Pyrovile particles first. He supposed she was one of those rare people who were more susceptible to it than others, like the members of the Sybilline Sisterhood. But even when she first stumbled against him, he assumedit wouldn't be particularly strong. Just a few blurry images. A few jumbled thoughts. But, as he was tending to be quite a lot today, he was wrong.

As they searched in desperation for some long-winded solution, not to save Rome, of course, which was a fixed point in time, but to destroy the Pyroviles, Clara's premonitions became even more violent.

She had shut her eyes in pain, whispering things like "no, no, please" and "you promised, you promised". They made no sense now, but perhaps they would in the future. Soon Clara could barely walk with the intense visions in her mind, she began shouting and screaming and sobbing, and the Doctor could not even imagine the kind of agony she was going through. He wondered what she was seeing, and whether it would actually enfold in their future. Whatever it was, it was very far from good.

They retreated to the Pyroviles' abandoned base, and he fiddled with the machine frantically, casting desperate glances at Clara as she curled up against the wall, tears on her cheeks, eyes scrunched up against another premonition. He so wished to stop, to stop and sit beside her and hold her to his chest, to whisper to her that it would all be okay, that they would survive, that none of what she was seeing would really happen. But she knew he was a liar.

When he had finally managed to disable the machine, he gave in to his impulse. The Pyroviles could still be heard raging above them, perhaps if they ran now they could get away. He could take Clara home and return to the same place in a few days' time, find something, anything, to stop them.

Or not, as things go.

He slipped one arm under her knees and another behind her back, and her eyes opened a sliver as he stood up.

"What are you doing?" her voice was raw and weak.

"We're leaving."

"We...we can't leave. All those people, they'll die."

"They'll die anyway. It's a fixed point. I can't change it."

"But the Pyroviles, they'll run amok. What about everyone else, everyone on earth? They'll be killed if we just let them go."

"There's nothing we can do. Not now."

"Yes there is. You know there is."

He didn't answer.

"Put me down."

"No."

"Put me down!"

"We're leaving."

"We have to stop them."

"We're _leaving_."

They had reached the outskirts of the main citadel, where the flames engulfed half the buildings already. Clara fell silent, shaking a little as another vision hit her.

"Put me down," she whispered, and her voice was so soft, so fragile, so unlike her usual self that he couldn't keep putting all this pressure on her mind, already bombarded with wave after wave of horrific flashes.

Against all his good sense, he obliged, propping her against a tree and crouching beside her.

"One moment to rest. Then we have to go."

She didn't respond, just sat still with her eyes shut. It was only when she began shivering, first little twitches of the fingertips and then full-body convulsions, that he realised just how daft he was. Clara was clever, and kind, and human. And she was also good at disguising her fear, when she wanted to. He should have known she would work it out.

He had said it himself, while explaining the effects of the machine. Psychic connections go two ways. Someone strongly influenced by the particles in the air might even be able to reverse the communication.

Blimey, he was slow.

"Clara," he put his hands on her shoulders, trying to root her in one place. "Clara!"

She either couldn't hear, or wasn't listening. Most likely a little of both. Didn't she know it could shatter her neural interface? Didn't she know it could render her totally mad for the rest of her days? Of course she did. She was clever. But she also wasn't reckless, or impulsive. She thought about things, she analysed whatever situation they were in before doing anything. She knew that what she was doing would work, that it would save them, and the rest of the world.

But he could still lose her.

"Clara! Clara, please!" he hated how his voice sounded, pleading. "Clara, stop! Come back to me! Don't do this, don't..."

Something was rising in his chest, something raw and wild and untamable. He felt it in his blood, a rushing in his veins, a roar in his ears, a fire in his throat. He had felt it before. And he was afraid of it.

She was still convulsing, her skin burning, her eyes twitching rapidly behind their scrunched up lids. She let out a sound, not a scream, not a yell, just a small, soft cry.

The roaring reached an unmatchable crescendo, his fingers were shaking, the beat of his hearts echoing through every fibre of his being, and Clara was dying, dying, dying, and he was burning, burning, burning...

And that was how he came to be here. Running. Clara somehow in his arms again, and he was running faster than he had ever before. He didn't know where he was running to, or why. He just knew that Clara could be dying right here, and he could do nothing. He knew that there was an inferno burning under his skin and it was very different to the one under hers.

It was rage, it was anger, it was fear. Fueled on centuries of loss and grief and death. Every single ending, every single goodbye, every single person he had been forced to let go. It was something old and alive, something he could never stop once it had awakened.

It was the voice inside him that urged him on, told him that they deserved to die, that they were evil and didn't deserve his mercy.

It was the force in his blood that made that final choice, said that last word, made the deciding stroke that ended a life.

It was the traces of a long passage of time, the shadows of love and joy and adventure, all come to an end.

It was the hidden part of him, the battle-hardened, blood-soaked warrior.

It was who he was when he was at his most desperate, most hateful, most hopeless, most lost.

Clara was dying.

And so he _ran_.


	24. Burning

Okay so the first part of this chapter will actually be in present tense, because a) it fits the situation a lot better b) it flows more c) it allows me to delve more into Clara's thoughts and d) I accidentally wrote it like that and can't be stuffed to change it cos it sounds better anyway.

Enjoy my little whoufflepuffs!

•••

CLARA

Fire.

Fire is burning, under every inch of her skin. Burning her agonized mind to cinder.

The flashes intensify, no longer in any way comprehensible, just split seconds, sounds, sights, emotions.

_A furious roar, frenzied but regular, hissing and sizzling and rumbling. _

_The scent of the sea, cool and stinging, but different, tainted, unearthly. _

_Two hands, clasped together. One of them is hers. Both are stained with blood, smeared by droplets of spray. _

_A loss. A horrific, unbearable, wrenching, loss._

Still, she claws and scrabbles through her mind, not quite sure what she is doing, or how to do it. But she tries anyway, because it is the only way to save them. To save humanity. The world. And the Doctor.

And then she finds it. The source of the flames. A roiling, searing entity of being, or several, connected. It is not expecting her. It is not prepared.

Instinct is her sole guide as she takes that last step, that final push, and lashes out at the fire. All her thoughts are mismatched and spiraled, a whirling, burning mess of herself. The flashes keep coming, more irregular, more frantic. And it takes all of the will in her mind, but she hurls all she can.

And it explodes.

Flames crash around her, echoes and visions fading, fading. There's a roaring, fading, fading, too. And the last few flickers of fire dissipate before her eyes.

She doesn't exactly wake up, it isn't like she was even asleep in the first place. She just becomes slowly aware of herself, her thoughts gather themselves in some semblance of a mind, and air brushes softly against her skin.

She's being jolted up and down, there are arms supporting her shoulders and legs, there's a warm body cradling her to its chest. But it's too hot, she's burning, it's much too hot.

She can't move, she can't speak, she can't think, she's burning, she's burning.

And the person, in whose arms she is being held, stops.

She is laid onto a rocky ground, softly, slowly.

He steps back from her, she feels a breath of air as he crouches, breathing hard and ragged.

Then he stands, slowly, carefully.

She can't open her eyes, she can't move, she can't think.

But she can hear his scream, his yell, his shout, his cry.

It's less of a sound than an emotion, less of an emotion than a force, less of a force than a monster.

It cuts through her mind, her splintered mind, something clear and pure and old and terrible.

It's a voice she knows well.

When it stops, she almost sighs with relief.

He crouches down again, his breath heavy on her cheek. A hand, at her neck, feeling for her pulse.

Another, clutching at her fingers.

A whisper.

"Please. Oh, please."

It takes all of her concentration to piece together enough willpower, but she opens her eyes.

The sun is searing, burning, burning, in her head. But there's a blackness there. A face.

"Clara? Clara? Are you alright? Clara? Clara, hello? Clara?"

That voice. That _voice_.

_"The sea, the sea, the beautiful sea! A force of nature, abode for the fishies, yacht races, lightning storms, the wild whims of water! Ha, alliteration!"_

_"Run, Clara, run. Run!"_

_"One thing you should know, my Clara, is that I, despite everything, am a liar."_

"Say my name one more time and you're either attracted to me or an overeager telemarketer," she whispers. She knows she is doing it again, the flirting as a "defense mechanism" as all the high school psychology texts called it.

Well, ha.

There is a sharp intake of breath, she closes her eyes again. The sun is too bright, too hot, too big, too much. A kiss on her forehead. And then he picks her up again, his arms pulling her close to him.

The soothing rhythm of him walking, the familiar purple tweed against her cheek, and the weight of a million twisted visions quickly wills her into some form of unconsciousness.

_swish _

_swish_

_swish_

_says the sea. _

_it calls_

_it screeches_

_it taunts_

_it whispers_

_death, it speaks of_

_death_

_in the sea_

•••

THE DOCTOR

The Doctor laid Clara's limp form carefully on the small seat in the TARDIS console room, and stood up.

He looked at her.

She was so peaceful, hair hanging over her forehead, eyes fluttering behind pale lids. So young, so beautiful.

He smiled to himself, because there was no one there to see it.

Shaking himself back to reality, he scanned her with the sonic, which confirmed that she was, indeed, alive and unharmed. Just unconscious, and with a great deal of psychic interference buzzing around in her mind.

He couldn't wait until she woke up. That would be too painful. For the both of them.

He stepped forward and placed his hands on her temples, rubbing his thumbs against her skin.

It felt much the same. Except this time, she wasn't awake to plead and protest. It was better that way.

But he still remembered. Donna Noble, most important woman in the universe. Back to being a jobless clerk, watching Big Brother and Keeping Up with the Kardashians every evening, more interested in the celebrity gossip than the treatment of Oods on the Ood Sphere, or the lives of the victims of Mount Vesuvius, or the fate of the universe itself.

But he wasn't erasing everything. Just Clara's knowledge of the future. Nothing but trouble would come out of that, he couldn't afford to take any more risks.

Not concerning her, at least.

He closed his eyes.

_The sea. A roar, a whispering roar. Crashing and hissing and screaming. _

_Himself, standing tall against a greying sky, the raging water below. _

_A face. A familiar face. One he thought he would never, ever see. Or hoped. One of a woman, a woman changed only by the absence of a silver contraption on her left eye. _

_A scream. A terrifying, anguished scream. He thought he recognised it, but her had never heard it before. _

_Clara?_

He let go, breathing hard and fast. Resting his forehead against hers, he allowed himself one moment of weakness. One moment of remembrance. One moment of fear.

Today had been too much, too soon. He had very almost lost her. Forever. If that ever happened, he wasn't sure what he would do. He had come so close to doing something stupid and terrible today.

When he opened his eyes, Clara was staring back. He was about to pull away, but didn't. Or couldn't.

"How long has it been this time?"

He couldn't look away, not now. "How long has what been?"

"Since you left to find the Silence."

And what an unsuccessful search that had been. Though, to be truthful, quite a bit of it involved little to no searching and a lot to all thinking.

"Two weeks, I think? I tried to come back earlier but the timelines in London were a bit messed up around then, so I felt it was safer."

"For you, you alien idiot!"

He breathed. "You want to know?"

"I do."

Should he tell her? He didn't know why he left for so long, he wanted to go back for every second of it. But he needed to find the Silence, whenever she was with him, they threatened her.

There was also the little factor that he may have been a teensy bit in love with her.

Alright, perhaps a tad more than teensy.

The bottom line was, in his experience, love never ended happily.

"Eleven months, or so," he muttered, but this time he couldn't look her in the eyes.

Next thing he knew, Clara slapped him across the face.

"...sorry?" he attempted, rubbing his cheek.

"You may be a thousand year old Time Lord who knows the theory of reality or whatever, but you are still overwhelming _stupid_!"

He blinked at her. "Well, it wasn't any different for you."

"Oh for God's sake- Not everyone is as selfish as you! This is what happens when you travel alone, I heard what you said. I heard _you_," she snapped.

He looked down at her, her soft brown eyes now sharp with anger and pain and worry.

"You could have died," he said quietly.

"So could you."

"Wouldn't that be nice?"

"Oh yes, just peachy. Why don't you kill yourself tomorrow and we can throw a party?" Clara retorted.

"Alright, I deserved that. Stupid questions, stupid answers. But..." he faltered. "What if you hadn't survived?"

"You would have gone on living your life, the world would be saved, I'd be buried on a pretty hill somewhere with some irises."

He grimaced. "Don't talk like that."

"Well, what do you expect me to say?"

He stepped back then, looked away. He couldn't do this. He couldn't think about this. Today had been so close, so very close.

"Say that you know I wouldn't just forget you."

She paused. "You would. Eventually. I know you, I think. You've travelled with lots of people. And lost them. I've lost people too, how could you live if you remembered?"

"I ask myself that everyday, Clara. Every single day," he sighed, turning to the console and setting a new destination. Enough remembering, Doctor. Bad jokes and bow ties, bad jokes and bow ties. _Stop remembering_. "Home again? Jiggity jig?"

"Maybe later. I think I'll stay to make sure you don't go running off on me again."

He smiled to himself. "Alright-I-O! Say, I haven't taken you to the planet of the coffee shops, have I?"


	25. Three Feared Words

A/N hello everyone! How's it going? I'm good, thanks for asking.

I believe that last chapter left some of you a little confused...and I'm glad, cos that's what I was aiming for. Clara was so confused her mind was splintered so of course you guys will be haha. everything will be explained in time, pinky swear!

Special thanks today goes out to all my guest reviewers, because you're all so nice and lovely and just aaaaaah people must you be such amazing people? Speaking of reviews, if you review this chapter I will literally hug you. Or hug the computer. Whatever. But just know that if you do I will be ecstatic and probably send a very capslock-y pm about how awesome you are. Cos it's true. And it will make me write the next chapter really really fast if I get a lot.

Anyway, hope you like this one. :)

•••

THE DOCTOR

"Next Wednesday, I suppose? And no more running off for eleven months to find freaky alien creatures?"

Clara raised an eyebrow at him. "I should hope not. But why don't we make sure? Say hello to Angie and Artie. They miss you."

"Do they? Well, might as well drop in for a minute or two..." he straightened his bow tie and followed Clara out the door. More domestic? He had always thought that wasn't his thing. But he couldn't stop himself.

He rang the doorbell himself, even though he knew that Clara had a key, pressing the brass button to the rhythm of "Kookaburra Sits in the Old Gum Tree".

George Maitland, to his surprise, answered the door.

"Ah! Greetings!" he exclaimed.

"Hi, George. Mind if the Doctor comes in for a cuppa?" Clara added.

The man scrutinized them both, perhaps checking for signs of another food fight, and eventually replied with an, "Of course, of course!"

It was only when they took a seat at the kitchen table that the Doctor realised he had his arm around Clara's shoulders, and reluctantly extracted it.

"Milk? Sugar?" George asked from the kitchen.

"No milk, four sugars please." Perhaps his usual five might come across a little rude in this situation.

"So, I haven't really had a chance to get to know you, hey? What do you do for a living?"

"I...I travel. You know, here and there. This and that."

"...right. I'm in law, myself." George returned to the table just in time for Artie to burst in from the backyard.

"Doctor!"

"Artie, hello!" he ruffled his hair. "How's chess going? Win any tournaments yet?"

"No," Artie's mood changed from excited to downcast in an instant. "I was hoping you could help me win."

"Ah, Artie, it's not about winning, it's about the game! But," he lowered his voice. "Who doesn't love winning, eh? One tip, keep your queen safe, don't risk her, she's a handy thing if you're stuck in check."

•••

Three hours later, and the Doctor had used up any and all excuses he had to stay longer. A couple of chess games, dinner and awkward chatting with Mr Maitland had allowed him most of those spare minutes with Clara. Usually he wouldn't be as tolerable of such ordinary events and small talk, but...he couldn't seen to find the part of himself that declared anything remotely ordinary 'boring'.

"See ya later, Doctor, hey?"

He looked down at her smiling face, and was struck with the sudden thought that he really, really did not want to go. Well, didn't want to leave _her_.

"Yeah, suppose so...you know, Clara, it's a nice day, and I know you don't want to go on any more adventures today but it _is_ a nice day, a beautiful day, a walk-y day, don't you think..." How to ask her, how to ask her? How did humans do this kind of thing?

"Doctor, it's February and about four degrees."

"Oh, oh, well, sorry, don't worry, I'll just be-"

Clara rolled her eyes and ducked back into the house. "I'll get my coat, alright?"

•••

The Doctor had absolutely no idea what he was doing.

Walking along some ordinary street he hasn't even bothered to find the name of, in an ordinary London suburb, on an ordinary 21st century day, on an ordinary four degree afternoon.

Except the person beside him was very much extraordinary.

He could barely even remember what they had been doing for the past half hour, only that it involved one of his old stories about cybermen and Clara teasing his fashion taste.

"Fezzes, no, _fezzes_ are cool," he pointed at Clara with finality. She simply laughed- again, that laugh?- and shifted under the weight of his arm on her shoulders.

He looked at her, and felt inexplicable tears prick at his eyes.

Happy crying. Humany wumany.

Of course then he had to spin wildly to avoid walking into a tree.

She was looking at him more intently now, with a fierceness that was undeniable. "Are you going to tell me what's wrong, now?"

He sighed. He had to, didn't he? He'd wanted to protect her, keep her as far away from the Silence as possible. But Clara wasn't one for letting these things pass.

"The Silence," he began, "as I said before, are a religious order. Ancient, and very powerful. Their main objective and belief is to bring about the silence...my silence...my death. I tricked them once, oh, quite cleverly, I might add. It involved an alternate reality and a robot duplicate, not to mention some very messed up time lines. And...I thought I'd shaken them off. If not forever, then for a while yet. I suppose not."

"Where did you go, when you were gone? What did you do?"

"I ran. As I always do. I searched. Couldn't find them, barely a trace, in fact. But they're there. Hovering at the edges of human evolution. Watching for me. They'll come for me, when the time is right."

"And that time is now?"

"Near future. Very near, if they are being careless enough to let me catch a glimpse of them. I just hope..." His words faded, it was hard to say them with Clara looking up at him with such concern and intensity in her eyes.

"That you can trick them again?"

"Well, yes, that too. But...I hope that they don't find _you_." He looked away, watching the path of a blackbird pecking at a bucket of chips on the footpath.

Clara was silent, and the Doctor felt like there many things she wanted to say to him -and a few of them involved heated arguing and witty remarks to show him how stupid that statement was- but she wasn't saying them.

He loved her for that.

They turned the corner, and there was the Maitland house, the TARDIS parked neatly outside.

"I'll see you soon, _right_?" Clara saw him off at the door.

"Er, yes. Yes, of course. Back in a jiffy, well, for me. Perks of living in a time machine."

"That wasn't an invitation, was it?"

"No! No, no. I mean, um," he stuttered. Why couldn't she stay in the TARDIS? It would mean he could be with her all the time, and it wasn't like that was a gloomy prospect. Not in the slightest. "If you want to, I suppose. I mean, I'm not forcing you, and it's not like I care that much but, um, you know..."

Clara laughed. "Don't think so, sorry, chin. In this case, loving someone doesn't mean I'm going to abandon my life to run off to god-knows-where with them."

_No._

_Oh no._

He stood there with his mouth gaping open, staring at her as she began to realise what she had just so inadvertently revealed.

"Bit keen, I mean, don't you think? Normal people wait at least a few years, but I don't know, maybe that's the nature of you Time Lords? A little too eager?" she smiled playfully, but her eyes wavered and her words were much too rushed to cover up her previous statement as something meaningless, as something between good friends, not...whatever they were.

"So, I'll see you next Wednesday," she muttered, creaking the door closed.

"Bye," he said. That's all. _Bye_. Idiot. Over a thousand years, you'd think he'd manage something slightly better. But no. Just _bye_.

He slapped a hand to his forehead.

_You dull, thick idiot!_

Perhaps she hadn't meant it like that, perhaps she'd meant it like she'd say to Angie and Artie, or to her best friends; like he'd say to Martha, or Donna, or Amy.

But he knew she hadn't.

Oh, for the love of _Rassilon_.

_Bye_? She just told you she loved you, why didn't you say something else? Something intelligent, something witty, maybe, but said with just the right tone of voice that it showed his own level of care for her. Or, at least, something more than a simple three letter word.

Why didn't he just say it back?

No.

He couldn't. He hadn't said it before, _not ever_, and for good reason.

He had come close, sure. But he still couldn't say it.

It was like a curse, those words. A broadcast to his enemies, of whom there were so many: _here is my weakness! Come and get it!_

Like a signal, to all the universe, everyone he might so meet. _The Doctor has fallen in love._

He had lost everyone he had ever loved, as friends, as family, in the most cruel and violent ways imaginable. He was loath to think how the universe might tear away Clara if he loved her.

If. It wasn't so much an 'if' as a 'because', now. But he still couldn't say it. Not now, not after all the others before her.

_Listen to yourself, Doctor. Worrying over superstitions and fate, pretending to know the whims of the universe. All because you are too scared to say three short words. The Time Lord Victorious, the Predator, the Oncoming Storm, felled so easily by the prospect of falling in love._

He could have laughed, long and loud and humourless, right in the Maitlands' front yard.

He turned back to the TARDIS, a snap of his fingers swinging the doors open.

Love. Did such a thing even exist? Pure, and simple, unhindered and not frightening? Maybe just not for him. Not for the Doctor.

He smiled grimly. What a nice way for the universe to repay him, for saving it so very many times. But, as he had learned before, you couldn't make bargains with it.

Not even for Clara.


	26. The Beginning of the End

A/N wow awesome thank you for all your reviews you are awesome and I love you so this chapter has come early due to your amazing efforts thank you.

Without further ado, here is the chapter because you guys deserve it you beautiful reviewing people.

•••

THE DOCTOR

Just about to step through the TARDIS doors, the Doctor caught sight of something he really did not expect to see.

Clara Oswald.

Standing a few houses away, running towards him.

Had she not just left him standing on the doorstep, disappearing into the house? She wouldn't have come after him, would she?

"Clara?"

"Doctor!" she spun around, jogging over to him.

"Clara? What are you doing?"

"What do you mean? What should I be doing? "

"Well, well...no reason. No reason at all." Wait, no. Wrong answer.

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "You're being weird. So, we going somewhere or not?"

Well. That was strange. He knew Clara, and knew that after something like...whatever had just happened, she wouldn't be quite so... laid back.

"Do you want to?"

"Course!" she moved to step into the TARDIS, but he shifted to block her, trying to act casual.

"What, got something to hide in there? Girlfriend, maybe?"

Now, that was Clara. But still, something struck him as false, out of place.

"No, no, I just think...I need to fix something on the TARDIS. The wormhole refractors have been wavering lately, I just need to rewire the configuration on the controls to stabilise them," he said, although knew very well that the wormhole refractors were perfectly functional.

Her face fell, and the Doctor almost gave in. But no, whoever this was, she was not Clara. Or, at least, not the Clara who had just closed the door on his nose.

"I'll be back in a jiffy, but it's probably not safe while I'm fiddling. Especially if I accidentally fall into a wormhole."

She nodded. "Wednesday, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, Wednesday..." he trailed off, looking off to where he first saw Clara. This Clara.

She couldn't possibly have gotten there from the house without him seeing her. And he quite doubted that she _would_ do so, anyway.

"'Til the next!" he gave her a clumsy salute and slipped inside the doors, swiftly closing them and sending the ship off into the vortex.

He let out a breath as they dematerialized, and rested his hand on the back of the wood door.

He touched his forehead to the familiar grain, and thought.

Maybe it was hours, maybe it was minutes, that he thought. But even he could not discern anything of the situation he was landed in. Traveling with a beautifully clever and absolutely brilliant companion who had just unintentionally told him she loved him, struggling to comprehend his own attachment to her, living with numbered days as the Silence watched and waited, and he had just seen another Clara. _Another_ one.

Who was she, really? She was Clara, just Clara. That was all he knew, all he could know. Perhaps something would happen to her in the future? Perhaps it was something totally out of his comprehension and control?

He hoped that the other Clara would not appear again. He didn't need anything else to add to the immense weight on his chest.

•••

CLARA

Clara Oswald was a complete and absolute idiot.

Stupid, stupid, _stupid_.

How could she have said that? She wasn't even thinking about it. It had just flown out, flittered away out of reach and now there was no taking it back.

She hasn't even known it herself. The announcement had shocked her just as much as it did him.

The Doctor was perhaps the worst person she could think of to fall in love with. Fleeting, ancient, and forever. Powerful, dangerous and alien. Could run away at any moment, leaving her alone again. Which, as he had shown quite obviously, was definitely possible.

But, then again, it was hard to think how she couldn't have. Childish and funny, despite his past. Unbearably kind, wise, and good. Always striving, fighting, for the right things. Well, almost always. That was why she was there.

Angie burst into the living room, where she had been reading (although her book was lying in her lap, forgotten) with a wild expression across her face.

"Clara? What are you doing here?"

"Reading...should I be somewhere else?"

"Yeah, you...you...I saw you outside. Just thirty seconds ago."

What was she going on about? "I've been in here for the last five minutes At least. I haven't been outside."

"But...what? I saw you."

"Well, it wasn't me. Maybe it was just someone who looked similar?"

"No...no..." Angie scrutinized her. "I saw you the other day, too. After you left with the Doctor. On the street."

"Pretty sure that wasn't me either," she assured.

"No, it was. She was exactly like you! And today, she was talking to the Doctor. But then he left in the TARDIS thing."

"Angie, are you sure-"

"Of course I'm sure! I saw it! I'm not lying!"

Angie _was_ renowned for her cleverly crafted lies, but this didn't seem like something she would just make up.

Maybe it was her from the future, or something? But would she really be that careless? Surely it might create some sort of paradox. She wasn't stupid enough to come close to where she knew she might be in the past.

"Are they gone? This... Other-me?" She didn't know what to call it other than the generic 'they'.

"Yeah. She just walked off and disappeared somewhere."

"I don't think we should talk about this. It's probably got to do with messed up time lines. If you see them again, don't go near them, alright?"

"Okay, fine." Angie left the room, looking a little irritated. But Clara couldn't provide any more answers. Even the one she came up with was just an inconclusive theory.

She tried returning to her book- an old, well-loved Agatha Christie- but found she couldn't immerse herself in the story as she usually did. Her mind kept on buzzing about, everything from the Silence, this other-her, the Doctor kissing her again (she still didn't know what was going between them), what other amazing planets and times they might visit next time, if there would even be a next time, what she had accidentally said to the Doctor on the doorstep...

She only realised just how tired she had been when she woke up, curled up in the corner of the couch, cheek pressed to the pages of Death on the Nile. She blinked slowly, wondered how she could possibly have slept with all those thoughts weighing in her mind, and stretched lazily.

The clock on the DVD player announced the time 8:00 in neon green, she had missed dinner. The room was dark and the door was closed, she supposed they had been unable to wake her.

The curtains that flittered against the main window, looking out on the darkened flower bed and some slightly sick-looking grass, were still thrown open, however.

Clara stood up and placed her book on the coffee table, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. As she was doing so, she saw something. A flash, on her left hand.

It was bound to happen sometime, wasn't it? The Doctor hadn't gone to all those precautions for nothing giving her that pen, the recorder in her palm.

And the base of her hand was blinking green.

She wasn't breathing at all when she pressed at the skin with her forefinger, and the blinking stopped.

It was her voice, not doubting that. Shaky, pleading, but ordering.

"They're here. They're here, oh god, they're here. Get out. Get them away from Angie and Artie. Run, run!"

For a moment or so, she couldn't do a thing. She could only stare at the seven black tally marks drawn starkly against her pale skin.

A/N *cue timpani roll* dun dun duuuun! Woooooooo okay so if you review I will love you 5ever okay awesome people and also the next chapter will be written up quicker than it would be otherwise so review please I love you

thank


	27. Secrets

A/N hello. I know this is a little late, and I apologise, but I've had a lot on my mind lately, not the least of which being the fact that my country just elected a racist, homophobic, sexist, foreign-aid cutting, refugee-hating climate-change-ignoring idiot as prime minister. Sorry to any Abbott supporters out there. I don't debate your opinions, but that's my reason for the late update. Sorry. IT JUST REALLY ANGERS ME WE ARE A PRIVILEGED COUNTRY IN A PRIME POSITION IN THE WORLD WE SHOULD BE SETTING AN EXAMPLE AND PROMOTING EQUALITY FOR ALL AND HELPING THE PEOPLE WHO NEED IT! AND ACTUALLY GROWING AS A COUNTRY AND THAT DOES NOT INVOLVE BEING A TOTAL SHITFACE

ahem. Excuse my French.

Sorry guys. Ignore my ranting. Sorry. Sorry sorry. Sorry. Really.

ahem.

Alrighty. So, there aren't really very many chapters left, I don't think. Like, between two and six. I don't know yet. But still, soon. Just a fair warning for you all.

Also, I apologise for another dreadful cliffhanger in advance. This chapter is where everything blows up in one giant BAM WOO PLOT TWIST DANGER DEATHS kind of thing.

Sorry for that. And sorry for ranting about politics ignore my views if you don't agree with them that's okay we're still friends and I still love you Sorry non-aussies.

I'm sorry.

Sorry.

Sorry.

•••

Over a thousand years of nothing but secrets.

That was him, in a sentence, was it not? But what were secrets, really? Just small little snippets of information, ideas, memories, actions, thoughts, that you hid. Hid from others, hid from the world, hid from yourself.

He did a lot of hiding.

What was the point of secrets? To protect those around you, or to protect yourself?

_Secrets protect us. Secrets keep us safe._

He used to believe that. At least, for his own secrets. Not for others' perhaps.

Secrets, secrets, secrets. He didn't know what to think of them anymore.

There was the secret of Clara. Who was she, how could she have died, how did he meet her again? What happened, was she a trap? An elaborate scheme of some long forgotten enemy? The Silence, maybe? Or just who she was. Just _Clara_.

Maybe that was one of the secrets he was prepared to let stay unspoken.

Like his own, for example.

But the events of the past few days...they had made him see something else. He had always thought that his secrets were for the protection of his companions, that he lied and hid for their safety. But maybe it was his secrets that put them in danger.

Enough secrets.

Enough lies.

He edged open the TARDIS door, and peered out into the night, the air heavy and thick with evening life. Taking a deep breath, he stepped out onto the footpath.

And Clara Oswald collided with his side. He spun his arms, but had never been one for balance and ended up sprawled on the nature strip.

"Clara?"

She grasped his hand, surprisingly strong for her small size, and pulled him up. He leaped to his feet as she dragged him into the TARDIS, slamming the door behind them.

"Where's the scanner?"

"What?" She was frantic, darting around the console, pulling down screens and squinting at readers.

"The scanner! _A_ scanner! A scanner that shows you all life forms surrounding the TARDIS. Something!" she snapped, wringing her hands.

"Um, um, um, um..." he pulled a viewing screen across the console, and flicked a few levers to show a birds-eye-view of the immediate vicinity, complete with heat recognition and annotations of species for every life form.

Clara shouldered in front of him, inspecting the scan in every detail. The Doctor couldn't see anything much wrong with it, apart from the fact that there was quite a large number of wasps located near one of the neighbour's lemon trees.

"None. They've gone. They've all gone." Clara breathed.

"Who-what-when...?"

In answer, she simply held up her arm, where was marked seven little tallies. Thirty five small black lines. Thirty five sightings of the Silence.

They were coming. For him.

•••

CLARA

Clara watched as the Doctor took her arm with careful fingers, staring at the little lines. His eyes were dark and deep as ever, still and stony.

"I can't ask you to leave me, can I?" he asked after a minute or two of thought.

"You most certainly can not."

He smiled, just a little. "Didn't think so. You won't be persuaded?"

"I won't put Angie and Artie in any danger. And I won't let you put yourself in danger alone. That's when you do stupid things," she said, daring him to argue.

"That's my Clara. You don't run out on the people you care about," he was still smiling.

_Wish I was more like that._

Clara wished he was a little more like that too. A little less fleeting, a little less uncertain, a little more constant. A little less of a secret and a little more of a promise.

"So what do we do?"

"_You_ don't do anything. I can't drag you into this."

"Shut up. What do we do?"

The Doctor's eyes had drifted away from the tally marks and were now fixed on some point over her left shoulder. Or possibly just her. It was hard to tell.

He dropped her wrist and turned to stride around the console, looking around at the console. For once, he seemed at a loss for what to do, which levers to pull, what buttons to press, where to take them in the immense universe.

"I don't know," he muttered, softly, slowly, as if he could barely believe it himself. "I don't know. Clara, I _don't_ know." His voice grew heavier with each repetition.

They stood there for a few moments in silence, before the Doctor began rummaging in his pockets frantically.

"They wouldn't just appear," he said. "They wouldn't just show up in that number, just to let me go again. It must have been a signal, a warning, a signpost..."

He took out the little card wallet that held his psychic paper, scanning it over and over before flipping it over to show her.

WE HAVE YOU NOW, DOCTOR.

There were some numbers and letters incomprehensible to her beneath these words.

"A threat," she commented.

"No, no, perhaps not..." the Doctor went over the words again and again, Clara moved to stand beside him.

"What's this about?" she tapped the row of letters and symbols. "A code? A name? A place, maybe?"

"Yes, yes, a place. Co-ordinates, in fact. Very exact, very precise. Down to the last metre, the last second. The question is, do we go there?"

There was a lull in conversation, in which both of them decided the answer.

"They know where I live. They know where Angie and Artie and George are. Maybe even my father."

He nodded, a little twitch of the chin. He was distracted, not thinking, not concentrating. She had to bring him back into the present.

"And, it seems to me, that there is no way you can run from them now."

He nodded again. "I'll have to confront them. Try to...do something. Find something. Anything," his eyes flickered over her, then to his hands. He looked at them, scrutinized them, searching every line, every vein.

"There's something more," she said, not bothering to ask because she knew. She _knew_.

"There's always something more," he closed his eyes for just a moment, and when he lifted his head was looking right at her. His gaze was so penetrating, so long and old and complex, that she had to stop herself from shuddering.

"Clara," he whispered, drawing out the word with a rush of breath. "Clara Oswin Oswald. Nice name."

"What's the something more?"

The desperate, almost _yearning_ look he gave her made her bite back further interrogation.

He smiled. "Won't put up with my secrets, never did, did you? That's good, I think. It helps. I have too many of them."

He paused, turned and fiddled with a few knobs on the console, very slowly and methodically.

"Clara, I'm going to have to ask you to do something very dangerous and very brave, something I'll probably regret asking you to do."

"Yes?"

"Clara..." his eyelids flickered, eyes wavering. "Stay with me. Please. Find me." He turned back to her.

"Find you? I don't know what you mean..."

He lifted a hand to her cheek. "It's not just a threat."

"What? 'We have you now, Doctor'? What else is that if not a threat?"

"It's not a threat. It's a message."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning...meaning what it is. It's

literal. A simple, obvious message disguised in the comprehension and phrasing of human thought. They don't just have me within their reach, they aren't just waiting in the shadows, able to strike at any time they choose. They literally _have me. "_

He closed his eyes again, and when Clara next saw those old eyes they were reflecting the blue lights of the TARDIS in unacknowledged, unshed tears.

"Find me. Don't put yourself in danger, don't do anything reckless. Just, please, find me. Just for a few seconds, if that is all I can get. Just long enough for a goodbye."

"A goodbye? No, no, you're not-"

"I'm sorry, Clara. I'm so sorry."

"No, what are you doing? Tell me, what is happening?!" she could hear the panic rising in her voice. What was he talking about? Find him? He was right here. Where was he going? And...goodbye? He wasn't really going to give up that easily, was he?

He placed a hand on her other check, too, and leaned in to kiss her forehead.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, before stepping back and pulling the sonic screwdriver from his coat pocket. "I just hope that we'll be able to say goodbye properly."

"I'm not saying goodbye to anyone!" she shouted, because the fear and panic and unanswered questions were growing, combining, roiling in her mind. Her heart was thumping, pounding, in her throat and she could see the Doctor was afraid, too, he was terrified, he was angry, he was regretful, and he was horribly, horribly _sad_. Or not sad, that was too weak a word for the tears gathering in his eyes. And _he wouldn't tell her why_.

"We never want to say goodbye. But this time...I'll try my best, but I've already tricked them once. Or twice, really. Third time lucky, for them, eh? I don't want to put you in danger. I don't want you to fight them. I just want..." he sighed, the sound long and low and sorrowful. "I want to say goodbye properly."

"No. No! I don't know what you're doing but I am coming with you, wherever you're going, and you can't stop me because we are going to get you out of this!"

He looked at her for a long second. "'We have you now, Doctor'. You still don't know what it means, do you? Well, you weren't there, I suppose. You aren't familiar with one of their greatest and cleverest tools. You see, it is literal. They have me. They have _me_. The real me. The real Doctor."

"Then what are you _now_?" she asked harshly.

"Good question."

"And what's the answer?"

"Answers, answers, answers..." he trailed off, smiling a little at her. Going on about final goodbyes and hidden messages and almost certain death, and he was _smiling_?

She was struck with an undeniable desire to both punch him in the nose and kiss him senseless. And she wasn't sure which was a worse idea.

So she just did both.

When she let go of his now tousled hair, he stumbled back a little, clutching his nose.

Now it was her turn to smile.

"Now, enough of this prattle about goodbyes, lets go to these Silence people and get them off your trail."

"If only everything were that easy," he muttered, still rubbing his nose, still pink in the cheeks, and still blinking in shock. "Because, I'm afraid, it is far from that."

He held up the sonic, and they both looked at the dull green light.

"Then tell me what the hell you're saying."

"I don't really know half the time, to be honest."

"I'll find you," she said, not knowing how or why.

"Thank you."

"Don't you dare thank me."

"Good thing I already did. And please, don't put yourself in any danger. None at all. I only want to see you. Just long enough to say goodbye for real. The real me. Just so I have something happy to remember in the end."

"I still don't know what you mean."

"No," he said, tilting the sonic so it pointed at his chest. "I'm sorry for that, too. For everything you're going to see. For everything that's going to happen. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

She couldn't breathe, she wanted to punch him again, this time in the big stupid head. "No. You're not going anywhere."

His eyes were steady. But his voice was not. "I don't want to die. I thought I did. Thousands of years, probably more, I don't even know how long I've lived. I thought I'd accept it. I thought I'd be thankful. But..." he shook his head. "I'm sorry. I hope you can find me. _Don't_ try to save me. If any harm should come to you, I'll die a ravaged man as well as a mad one. I only want to see you one last time, through my real eyes. That's all. That's everything."

She stepped towards him, scrabbling for something to say, anything, to stop him. But that was hard when he didn't even know what he was about to do.

"Clara, for everything, I'm sorry," he whispered, before activating the sonic, the buzz growing louder and louder and faster and faster, persistent and frantic and angry.

And all that was the Doctor disappeared, transmuting into a pale slick of sickly white, reflecting her own horrified expression back at her from the cold metal floor.

A/N sorry sorry sorry don't kill me I love you all thank you so much for reviewing it makes me happier than you could ever know.

-RA102


	28. Alone

A/N hey gUYS! How's it going? Sorry this is late. I mean really REALLY REALLY SORRY. SORY SORRY SORRY. I'm sick and had soooo much on you wouldn't believe IM SORRY!

Thank you so much for you reviews. Like, really. I love you. Oh my god.

Also, 50TH POSTER. HOLY SHIZZLES PEOPLE. DAY OF THE DOCTOR. MATT AND DAVID. JOHN HURT. EXPLODING DALEK. SONIC ON RED SETTING. BAD WOLF. GALLIFREYAN SYMBOLS. TIME WAR TIME WAR TIME WAR!

I can't do this guys I can't wait I'm going to dissolve into a puddle of nothing I can't COPE

OOHOHOH AND THE XMAS FILMING PICS. ALL THE WHOUFFLE HUGS! AND GREEN CHRISTMAS CRACKER HATS AND SANTAS AND TURKEYS. IT'S LIKE THEY'RE HAVING A PARTY. IMAGINE THAT. WHOUFFLE CHRISTMAS PARTY. IN CANON. AWWWWWWWWWWWW

but wait

no

he's regenerating

eleven is dying

...

no

•••

THE DOCTOR

When the Doctor woke, he was not surrounded by a crowd of hissing Silence, he was not bound by iron chains, he was not looking into Madame Kovarian's leering face.

He was lying on cloudy white crystal, his back aching from where the jagged edges had rubbed against his spine. The sky above was as bright white as the scene below it, and there was a lazy, regular rush seething in the chilled air.

He stood up carefully, looked out at his surroundings. A high cliff face, just a metre or so from the edge, which plunged down to a blue grey sea thrashing like a prisoner against its cell.

He thought he recognised it. Vaguely. Perhaps he had visited here early in his travels, and perhaps somewhere else on the planet. Virona? Virana?

The crystal plains stretched out into valleys and hills, on and on and on.

He was alone.

He took a sharp breath, let it out. Alone. Alone.

No sign of the Silence.

Not one.

He clutched his hands into fists, imagining the bones tearing through his skin.

He had just made an impossibly stupid mistake.

But Silence were not stupid. Oh no.

_It was all a trap. A trick. A false trail. And he had followed it, step by step. Just as they had laid it out._

He had to crouch down and splay his hands against the cold crystal to steady himself against the merciless truth of the revelations that hit him, then, one after another.

The Silence knew him. They had been watching him very closely. For a very long time.

They wouldn't have been careless enough to let him catch a glimpse of them, like he had in the markets of Jottrein. That was planned. A distraction.

When he had gone off to look for them, that was when they had replaced him with the doppelgänger. Had they drugged him, too? Made him forget? No, he would have seen it. He would have felt it. Wouldn't he? He didn't know.

The other Clara he had seen. She had not been the real Clara, nor one like he had met in the Dalek Asylum or Victorian London. She had been a ganger, too. Another distraction.

All these distractions, so cleverly planned to keep his mind working and muddled and occupied. Not seeing the little things, focused on the bigger problems. While they watched and waited.

The Doctor and Clara.

He scrunched his eyes shut, couldn't bare to look at his hands any longer, they disgusted him, they revolted him, they reminded him just how much of a naive sentimental /fool/ he was.

They _knew_. The Silence had been watching his every step, every movement, and he had not noticed them. Because he had been too busy noticing someone else. They _knew_ he would be distracted by the ganger Clara, they _knew_ that would be the perfect time to pounce. They _knew_ he'd figure it out, that he himself was a being of the Flesh. They _knew_ if they threatened Clara, he would simply come to them, no running, no hiding. They _knew_ what he would say to her, they _knew_ what he would ask her to do.

They knew everything.

They knew his past, they knew his present. They knew who he was, what he would do, and why he would do it. They knew he was, at heart, a lonely old man ravaged by a thousand years of desperate emotions that he could barely control.

They knew that he would ask her to find him.

Why had he done that? How could he have been so thick as to let his feelings overtake his basic sense?

Because that was who he was. The Doctor, a man who makes people better, who fights for justice and good using only his ancient mind and a time machine. Until he wasn't. Until he was the Doctor, a mighty warrior, a desperate soul, a hopeless elder, all because he allowed himself, just for a moment, to _feel_. To _remember_. To _love_.

He had asked Clara for one final, true goodbye. No risk, no danger, hopefully, to her. Just something happy to remember in his probable death. He couldn't believe, now, that he had asked her that, that he had allowed himself to give voice to the monster inside him that strained towards her, towards all those he loved.

Quite a rude old Gallifreyan term slipped his lips.

_They wanted Clara._

He chuckled, the sound low and hollow and almost a cry.

A flock of small bird-like creatures fluttered overhead, from one horizon to the other, and their harsh cawing sounded to him like cold, sharp laughter.

He straightened up, turned his head to the shining heavens.

He had forgotten himself. He had been confused by the Silence, by the other Clara. He had been distracted by the real one. And he had forgotten to stay logical, had jumped to conclusions too early.

The sky was darkening to a silvery grey, the reflection of the crystal dying with it, and he looked out again at the jagged shards. Each one was sharp and harsh and bare, and the Doctor was a faint mirror of himself looking up at him from one flat plane under his feet.

He was so very alone.

•••

CLARA

It took a minute or two, to gather herself, to decipher what she herself was thinking, to decide what she felt about all this. This running, hiding, lying, disappearing, begging, pleading, finding.

But she did.

Clara Oswald was going to _kill_ the Doctor. When she next saw him, she was going to _murder_ him.

Or at least deliver him a well deserved punch in the arm.

The TARDIS put up no resistance when she ordered it to follow the coordinates on the psychic paper, which the Doctor had left sitting neatly on the console. She paced around the control room for a few minutes, checking the life scan screen that was conveniently still in operation and working her mind around the situation.

Clara didn't exactly pride herself on bravery. There were many times in her travels with the Doctor that she had been gripped by serious, numbing fear. The thing she did acknowledge about herself, though, was the fact that she would do what she had to do anyway, despite fear. That was something she had learnt to do very well over the years, hiding her emotions, however strong, and carrying on as if they did not exist.

Right now, Clara was very very afraid. But the majority of that nestled fear was not for her own life.

She knew very little about what had happened to the Doctor, only that he had disappeared. Shortly after having one of his rare moments of weakness and unfettered emotion. Shortly after he had asked to see her for one last time.

And she bloody well was not going to let him get away with it.

"Okay, TARDIS. You don't like me, and I think talking to you is totally bonkers. But I don't know how to fly and I am politely asking you to return to this exact spot three hours in the past. Alright?"

The ship jolted, throwing her against the console, and creaked indignantly. She assumed the machine was obliging, having seen the sense in her idea. There was no point or logic into jumping straight into the eye of the storm.

Clara took a long breath before opening the TARDIS doors, making sure the key was safe around her neck, the recorder in her palm unblinking, and her arms unmarked.

She cracked open the door and peered out.

"My dear girl, did you really believe we would not account for your apparent 'cleverness', as your Doctor calls it? Three hours in the past, hardly enough time to compensate. These people that man keep, you really are amusing."

•••

A/N so I hope all of you got what I was trying to communicate in that chapter. It was really hard to write for some reason. Basically the Doctor was all caught up in emotion-y stuff, which made him jump to conclusions, say stupid things, not think about himself, etc etc etc and basically messed everything up. As he does when he gets caught up in emotions *coughdemonsruncough*

So another BIG thank you for all those lovely reviews! They only take a minute and yet they brighten my entire day!

Another sorry for the cliffhanger + late update.

-RA102


	29. Some Old Friends

A/N hi guys! I typed this up as quickly as I could, just for you and all your wonderful reviews. Thank you! (Be thankful guys, I wrote most of this at eleven o'clock at night after watching the episode 'Midnight', which is the fricking scariest thing I have ever seen. And I'm one of those people who watch horror movies alone at night and still get peaceful sleep.)

And oh my god guys another thing about the Christmas special- in those pictures Clara is wearing a cardigan with bow ties on it. BOW TIES. What if the Doctor gave it to her for a present? Or she wore it cos she knew he'd like it? But then twelve probably won't wear a bow tie. WHY MUST THERE BE MORE THINGS FOR ME TO CRY ABOUT?

God sorry guys I'm whouffle deprived. Enjoy and thank you so much for reviewing! (betcha can't get to 200...jks ignore me)

•••

THE DOCTOR

When he first spotted the flash of golden-red out of the edge of his vision, the Doctor thought he was going funny in the head. Or, at least, more so.

When the figure came close enough that he could see her face, he decided he was hallucinating.

When she stopped a metre from him, he blinked several times and simply stared.

Donna Noble.

Amazing, brilliant, _important_ Donna Noble was standing just there, giving him a funny look.

"And who the bloody hell are you?"

Even her voice. _Donna_.

"Look, mate, are you just gonna stand there gawping at me or tell me who you are?"

"I'm... the Doctor," he said. That was all he could say.

"Right. Course you are, mister. I know the Doctor and he doesn't have clown hair and a..._bow tie!_"

"He doesn't does he?" _Donna Noble._

"Darn right he doesn't. So you gonna tell me your real name? Cause I really would like to find the real Doctor. You seem 'im?"

"No," he said. But he wanted to say so much more.

"Sure? Pretty hard to miss. Space hair, trench coat, skinny as a stick."

"I haven't seen him."

"Can you make yourself useful and tell me where I am, then?"

He smiled. "It starts with V, I think."

"Fat lot o' help that is. Are you going to be a gentleman and offer to help me find the Doctor or keep on standing there with that depressing smile?"

_Snap out of it_. This wasn't Donna Noble. It couldn't be. It could never be. This Donna Noble was a trick. Another clever little trap to mess with his head.

"Donna Noble," he cleared his throat.

She stepped forward sharply. "How ...how the bloody hell do you know my name?"

He fished the sonic screwdriver out of his pocket. "You..." he stopped. Took a breath.

_Don't say it. Don't say it. This isn't really her. She's a doppelgänger. A trick._

He couldn't stop himself. "I'm so sorry."

The buzzing of the sonic dimmed away into silence.

•••

CLARA

A cold, bony hand clenched around her wrist, she was too shocked to react quick enough, was pulled out into the chilling air.

Two tall soldiers took hold of her arms, and another stood in front of her with a very big, very black, very real looking gun. The soft click that sounded when he cocked the safety switch stilled her struggles.

"Very good, very good," a sharp voice commented, the same one she had heard before. The owner of this voice strode into view, with a face to match the sneering voice.

"Clever enough to know the value of your own life, too. Some of his previous pets had very little of that particular virtue."

"Who are you and what do you want with the Doctor and I?" she demanded, but her voice was shakier than she liked and the line felt much too weak and cliche to make much of an impact.

"All we need from you, my girl, is to stand there and scream. I'm afraid we demand a little more from the Doctor."

"And where is he, then?"

"Oh, he's coming. He's just having a chat with some of his old friends. A little bit of...fun."

She couldn't try anything now. Not without the Doctor. She'd have to wait, not that she had much of a chance of escaping now anyway.

She closed her eyes for a moment.

And didn't say a word.

•••

THE DOCTOR

"Hey, hey, you, mister!"

The Doctor spun around on the jagged crystal underfoot, spinning his arms to keep balance.

"Sorry, could you tell me where I am?"

_Martha Jones._

"I-I..." He looked at her. Young and bright and brilliant Martha Jones.

Not this again. What did they want? Why were they doing this?

"You alright?"

"Yes, fine. Fine."

She raised an eyebrow. "Alright. Sorry, where am I, exactly? I've just got a bit lost."

He smiled, because here was _Martha Jones_. How he'd missed her.

"You're looking for the Doctor, are you?"

"Yeah, how'd you know that?"

"Lucky guess," he slid the sonic through his fingers, held it before him.

"What's that?"

"A little contraption of mine."

"Looks a little familiar. Different colour. It isn't, by any chance, a sonic screwdriver?"

"Indeed it is."

_Stop it. Shut up. She's not real. She's not here._

"How'd you get it? You aren't...are you a Time Lord? Sounds crazy but... couldn't help but notice you've got some similarities with a friend of mine." Martha looked a little suspicious now. Brilliant Martha. Curious Martha. Stubborn Martha.

_Stop_.

"Martha Jones..."

_Don't. She's not real. She can't hear you say it. It's fake. It won't make a difference._

Again, he could not seem to stop the words tumbling from his lips.

"You're a _star_."

He was smiling, even as she fell to the ground before him, just a puddle of sickly white. At least he thought he was smiling. But he was sure it looked more like a grimace, or a pained frown.

•••

He spotted Amy before she spotted him, out over a little ridge in the crystal. And, of course, there was Rory. Just by her side.

He tried heading away from them. He even started to run. He couldn't face this. He couldn't let them continue to revel in the torture they knew they were inflicting upon him. He couldn't let them win.

But, in the end, he just wanted to see them both together one last time.

"There you are! Do you mind _not_ running off on us on unknown planets again?" she yelled, her voice strong and melodically Scottish.

The genuine tangibility of her, of Amy Pond, picking her way over the crystals made him look away for a moment.

"Look, if you want to ditch us, at least ask nicely and choose somewhere with warmer weather," she continued. "Aaand, you're not even listening. Men."

"Hey!" Rory protested, somewhat halfheartedly.

He had to turn away again, each of their words twisted and writhed in his stomach.

They stood before him, now. Looking at him. But he couldn't look at them.

"Is something wrong?" Rory asked casually.

He couldn't look.

_Rory Williams. _

_Amelia Pond. _

He just pressed the button. Listened to the buzz. Glanced at the Flesh coating the crystal shards.

And walked away.


	30. Some Old Enemies

A/N hi guuuuys. Having another bout of existential crisis at the moment so I don't really feel like saying much. Just thank you for supporting this story so far, it really means a lot to me. Sincerely I thank you all. Also if I have not replied to your pm, I will get around to it. Sorry I've had limited Internet access lately.

:)

•••

THE DOCTOR

The Doctor stood still and sharp as the unforgiving crystal, and did not waver an inch, when he spotted Rose Tyler picking her way towards him. She waved, face obscured by unruly hair, and hollered, "You alright there?"

"As alright as alright can be," he answered, not quite as loud.

"Listen, you seen a man in a blue suit around here? Crazy hair? Or a big blue box?"

"Can't say I have."

Rose stopped a metre or so in front of him. Or tried to. Her slippery converse slid down the flat pane of a crystal, and he was there by her side to steady her without a thought.

_Why were they doing this? What did they want from him? More pain, more confusion?_

"Thanks," she said, looking at him curiously, as well as the sonic screwdriver he was holding by his side. "You remind me of someone, you know? What's your name?"

_Get it over with. Not real, not real. Do it._

He looked at her, didn't answer, aimed the sonic, watched until Rose Tyler was no more.

_Goodbye again, Rose Tyler._

•••

When he saw Clara, yes, it was definitely Clara, standing at the edge of the cliff, he instinctively began to run.

Towards her.

_Wrong way._

But what if this was the real Clara? What if he could save her, tell her to run? He wouldn't miss the chance to get her out of here simply for the sake of a little less pain, a little less madness.

"Clara?"

She looked around. "There you are! Been looking for ages! Thought you might've run off again."

"Never," he smiled, reaching her.

"You'd better not, chin," she tapped the body part in question. "What is this place, anyway?"

"Starts with V."

"Oh come on. I'm not playing I Spy with you again," she smirked.

_It's not her._

But what if it was?

"I'm not _exactly_ sure what planet this is. I don't know if the atmosphere is that safe, so..." He didn't bother continuing, and just scanned her up and down with the sonic.

"What _are_ you doing?"

"Checking for normal respiratory function."

He checked the sonic reader. Origin of genetic make up.

The molecules and their combination were distinctive. The Flesh.

How could he have thought otherwise?

"If you've taken me to a planet with toxic air, Doctor-"

He couldn't let her speak any longer. He couldn't _look_ at her while he did it. This was all his fault, he had asked her to come here for him. Into danger. To, potentially, her death.

Something inside him flinched at the mention of the word.

When the ganger Clara was nothing more than a slick of white, he had to resist the urge to throw the sonic against the hard crystal, stomp it to pieces, and run. Run far, far away.

Instead, he crouched down, and sighed.

He remembered something, something the 'fortune teller' had said, way back on Jottrein. It echoed in his head, a memory of a time gone by, a warning of the time still to come.

_The hanged man. The paradox card. To escape the past you must stop running. To be strong you must embrace vulnerability._

_But there is another meaning._

There's always another meaning. There's always something else.

•••

CLARA

His silhouette was tall and dark against the silver light of the horizon, his coat and hair shivering in the dying wind. He was standing right on the precipice of the dark sea, looking down at something below.

The soldiers who had hold of her stopped for a moment to fix silver eyepatches to a single eye. They didn't give one to her.

As they neared, the Doctor stayed still. He didn't turn around. When about thirty of the Silence creatures appeared over the ridges to stand sentinel, though, he spoke.

"Didn't think I'd see you again, Kovarian," his voice was caught and tossed by the wind, but still loud, still strong.

"You thought you could evade us until the end of time, did you? Not even you could do that."

"No," he looked around, not at Clara, but at the Kovarian woman. "I didn't think I'd see _you_. You do remember what happened at the pyramids, don't you? They turned against you. They killed you, your own allies."

Kovarian clenched her jaw, which served to make her much more sharp and intimidating. "It was a mistake. They were trying to kill you and your little mob. Their control of electricity is difficult to stabilise and concentrate."

"Oh, is that what they told you?"

"It is what is true," Kovarian growled. She was definitely not on the higher ground in the conversation, and she knew it.

"It is what they told you is true."

"You are in no position to banter or manipulate. You are surrounded. Your TARDIS is gone. You have nothing."

"Oh? And what do you want?" He stepped away from the cliff a few feet.

Kovarian smiled. "You know very well what we want."

"My death. Yes. But _how_?" He was still fixed on Kovarian, hadn't glanced at Clara. That was good. Maybe he was trying to tell her something. Maybe he was trying to buy them time.

"We have weapons enough."

He chuckled. "I'm a Time Lord. Your weapons can't kill me."

"Then you tell me, Doctor. How will we bring about your log awaited end?"

His eyes flickered to Clara. Then up at the sky. Then Kovarian again. "You will interfere with my regeneration."

"Yes, but how _exactly_?" Kovarian leered.

He paused. "Clara." He wasn't addressing her.

It struck her in a second. Regeneration. The Doctor had explained that once, in brief. If he was dying, his body would completely transform, every atom, into someone new.

And they would use her to force him not to regenerate, to die.

Clara felt something rise in her chest, whipping around inside her like the wind. Her fingers were shaking, the back of her neck was cold and prickly, the hands of the soldiers on her arms were too hot, too hot.

This was fear like she'd never felt before. Not savage fear, not immobilizing fear, not slow fear, not dread.

This fear felt _hopeless_.

But if there was just one good thing she had gleaned from the Doctor, it was that there was hope in everything.

"You thought we wouldn't find you, didn't you, Doctor? You thought you could erase yourself from history, from the universe. But you are much too old, too big, too powerful for that. You left quite a void in the records."

"Nice to know I made an impact."

"Did you enjoy meeting those old friends of yours? I thought it a nice touch, just a little something to make sure you didn't run off. Quite amusing too, your little pets."

The Doctor tensed, let out a loud breath, eyes hard, but softening, failing. Who were these old friends? Pets? Kovarian had called her that before. Did she mean other people who had travelled with the Doctor? Were they here?

"Let her go," Kovarian ordered harshly.

The soldiers loosened their grip on her, one pressed the tip of their gun into her back, forcing her forward a few steps.

He was looking at her now.

He didn't look frightened.

He looked sad. Sad...with only the tiniest glint of hope.

The fear rose again, she hoped it didn't show on her face.

Two of the Silence- where had they come from?- stepped between them both. She tried to keep her eyes on them, tried not to forget them. She was keeping her breathing steady, thinking it over, looking for something, anything-

And a jagged arc of electricity speared through the air, from a pale alien hand to the Doctor's chest.

He fell.

To the shining ground.

Clara couldn't move. Couldn't speak. Why hadn't she run to him before? Maybe she could have pushed him out of the way, done something, anything!

He was writhing, jerking, hands clutching at his head. Fingernails scraping against the crystal, but not screaming. Not a sound.

She tried to run to him them.

One of the Silence stood in her way.

Held up its hand.

Behind it, the Doctor's lashing was slowing, weakening, he was panting, eyes closed.

"Not to kill," Kovarian warned. "Don't kill her."

And then there was pain.

•••

A/N sorry for the cliffhanger again. This is becoming a habit. Additional note: brace yourself for chapter 31...


	31. Almost Like Flight

A/N WOOOO here's chapter 31 everyone! Hope you likey. Most likely you won't. Going by the reaction to the last chapter. I really need to stop with the cliffhangers. I really really do.

Remember: if you review, I'll be much more motivated to write and the next chapter will be published quicker! Thanks everyone!

•••

THE DOCTOR

The pain, the _pain_, tearing through him, jolting through his veins, throbbing against his brain. He couldn't think, could barely breathe at all through the unbearable _pain_.

He clutched at the cold ground, for something to hold onto, something to lessen the agony. But it wasn't stopping. And he could feel himself slowing, feel it becoming too much for his old hearts.

The _pain_.

Growing. Louder. Sharp and cold and hot. His limbs were dead, too heavy. And there was still the _pain_.

Then he heard the scream.

Clara. _Clara_.

Had they got her, too?

A shock of energy like the one he had just experienced...it would kill her almost instantly.

_Please, no._

But the pain was dying away, though still definitely there, and he could think a little more coherently.

They wouldn't kill her. They needed her alive. That was what they were doing. Torturing her, threatening her, so that he would let himself die.

"C...C...Cla..." he tried to speak, although barely able to piece the thoughts together to open his eyes.

"Again," came the voice of Madame Kovarian.

Another scream, softer, weaker.

_Clara_.

He opened his eyes. And there she was. Lying, limp, fists clenched against her forehead, on the ground. Her eyes were clenched shut, her jaw tight, huddled, small and fragile.

"C...Clara," he croaked. "Clara."

He didn't know how he managed to drag himself over to her. But, when he did, his legs collapsed by her side, so weak.

"Your turn again, Doctor."

The pain was like a tidal wave, crashing over every inch of him, washing away all remaining strength and sanity. It surged through him so hard and fast and unthinkable, coming out his throat in the form of some long, low, twisted scream.

It wasn't until the pain faded away to half its potency- some unimaginable time later- that he realised he had been grasping a small, pale hand, crushing it, cradling it with his own.

"Regenerate," the voice said again. "And she dies. Die, and she lives. Your choice, Doctor."

What sort of a choice was that?

"Don't..." another voice. Soft. Raspy. Clara. "They need you. Everyone needs you. You're the Doctor. I'm just me."

"...no," he panted. No. _No_.

"Yes. The universe can go on without me. It can't go on without you," her words shook, and he realised just how scared she was. And yet she was still saying this.

"Run...Clara. Run. Run!" he ordered in a whisper, though it pained him so. She needed to go. She needed to live.

"No. No. You said you wouldn't leave again. You promised. That's all. I'm not leaving," she whispered.

"One thing..you should know...my Clara...is that I...despite everything...am a _liar_," he said the last words with all the strength and ferocity left in him, which was not much.

"Finished exchanging your last little words? Now, Doctor..._choose_!"

And then it hit again, more powerful, more agonizing than ever, moving was unthinkable, breathing was inconceivable, making a sound other than a whispered scream was simply impossible.

He was dying.

Right then, right there, his hearts were failing.

He could feel it.

Everything slowing, ticking to a stop.

Tick.

Tock.

Goes the clock.

Even for the Doctor.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

•••

CLARA

They were both bloody, their hands. She didn't know whose blood it was, or where it had come from. There was a lot of blood around.

The Doctor's fingernails were cracked and red with it from scraping against the crystal, there was more dripping from his nose across his face. Clara had suffered additional cuts from the clean, sharp rock edges, and there was more seeping from the places where her nails had torn through the skin of her palms.

And so blood dripped from their clasped hands, both of their blood together dripping onto the white reflective crystal. She was sure they both looked quite weak, quite desperate, quite hopeless, lying there. She was sure that the Kovarian woman was looking down at them with pleasure and a little disgust. The Doctor, a thousand years old, saviour of a million worlds, a billion lives, felled so easily by a fork of electricity and a simple threat. Reduced to a screaming, pleading man, dying beside a small, meaningless human.

She couldn't let him become that. He was the Doctor. He had to live. He had to keep on traveling, saving the universe, ridding it of injustices time and time again.

Not this.

Her fingers ached where he held them, so tight, as he gritted his teeth and writhed against the pain. But she didn't pull away. He needed her. If what they had done to her had hurt, she couldn't imagine what he was feeling.

And then he stopped moving.

And lay still.

No.

He wasn't dead.

He _wasn't_.

Yes. He was breathing. Rapid, shallow. But breathing.

She could tell he was dying. It wasn't just the sweat shining on his pale cheeks, the way his fingers lay limply in hers, the shortness of his breaths. It was just the sort of thing you felt. The sort of thing that hung heavily in the air, pounded against your skull, sunk into your mind.

She couldn't let him.

The Doctor was a great man. A good man, too, most of the time. And he only wasn't those few other times because of what the universe had done to him. And yet he still saved it, still gave everything to keep time ticking as it should, to keep it all in balance.

The universe would miss him too much. But it wouldn't miss her.

"Sorry," she whispered to him. "Sorry."

He squinted at her, and at first it was like he couldn't see her at all.

"What?" he croaked. "What?"

"Regenerate. Don't die, okay. Just don't."

"What?" he repeated. She didn't think he was alive enough to understand.

"Regenerate," she whispered again, then dragged herself to her feet. Her head was still reverberating inside itself, the shock was still a memory in her limbs.

"Finished with your goodbyes?" Kovarian said in that sharp silver voice.

"Get me out of here. You've finished with me. Let me go."

"Oh, he isn't dead yet. We can't take that risk," she smiled, then motioned for the soldiers to grab hold of her. Clara didn't resist them.

She looked down at the Doctor again, his eyes were closed, blood was soaking into his tweed jacket, the hand that had been holding hers was lying still where she had left it.

The soldiers were holding her arms, bracing themselves if she were to run. But they were angled so to block the way inland, and the way to her right, where the Doctor lay. Not towards the sea to her left. They were much stronger than her, yes, but they could not kill her. If they did, they'd lose their hostage, they'd lose their way to ensure the Doctor's death.

Not that that actually mattered, considering what she was about to do.

The sea in this place was not like the seas of Earth. This sea was deep and black, raging against the cliffs with immense strength, pummeling itself with no mercy. She could not see a beach for miles either side. Just the tall, flat cliffs and the sea.

Something about the sound it made, the smell in the air, the wind in her hair, the feeling in her gut felt familiar. She wasn't sure how, or why, but it seemed like she'd felt it before. Or some of it, at least.

She closed her eyes, for just a moment.

There was not hesitation.

She tore forward- she was right, they were not expecting her to go to the sea- ripping her arms out of the soldiers' hands, to the very edge of the cliff.

Before they could reclaim her, before Madame Kovarian could shout, before she took that last step, she looked back.

It was a millisecond, less than that even, that she looked back at him.

His eyes were open.

They were wide.

He looked even paler, even weaker even more agonized than before. And in his eyes was shock. Then horror. Then fear.

And then she looked away, because she had seen what she needed to. She had seen what would push her to make the final step.

She looked down.

Fear gripped her around the chest, a cold arm around her throat, a hard punch in the stomach.

She ignored it.

Took the final step.

The fall felt free, quick, almost like flight. Just in the wrong direction.

The water was colder than she expected.

•••

A/N

i'm sorry

please don't kill me.


	32. The Monster of the Sea

A/N woooah guys lots of reviews there! Thank you all so much and keep it up! Got this out a bit early (I think) for all you lovely reviewers. Hopefully this chapter is the last cliffhanger in this story. Emphasis on hopefully because I have commitment issues. Sorry. This is short too. Also sorry. Sorry. Please review. Thank you. It gets me through the week more than you can know.

•••

CLARA

The first seconds were quite peaceful, if Clara was to be honest. After the initial mind numbing fall- air so strong and many-handed- when she was in the water.

The cold was colder than anything, even that one time as a teenager when she had run out into the snow in her pajamas just to see what it was like. This was a biting cold, a fierce cold, a shocking cold.

But it was peaceful.

Underwater, hair floating around her, her dress swirling about. The water so clear she could see it was devoid of any significant life for kilometres out to sea. It was easy to forget, to literally immerse herself into something else, to escape.

But then she surfaced.

And the waves came crashing down.

She'd done swimming lessons, swam in the sea plenty of times. But the sea in this place on this planet at this time was nothing like the seas of Earth.

This sea felt _alive_.

It was as if it could sense her, as if it wanted her to drown. Every time she tried to take a breath, another thrashing came down upon her head. Every time she tried to swim in another direction, it forced her back under into the swirling, grasping depths.

It was a monster. And she stood no chance against it.

The panic stabbed at her chest as the water did the same, restricting her breaths just as much as the sea. It was insistent, undeniable.

She didn't want to die.

She wanted to _live_.

And yet, and yet, what was the alternative? The Doctor's death? And what would that mean but the death of millions of others he would have saved in the future? And the death of himself...as the _Doctor_.

He had to regenerate. He had to live.

She couldn't.

That's not to say she gave up.

There is a kind of instinct, an age-old idea embedded in humanity's very fibre. It is reminiscent of when we were no more than the other animals, just as desperate, just as preyed upon. Weak and vulnerable to the ferocious predators. And this instinct is still there. The will to live.

Clara wondered whether everyone had this. Whether everyone, in their final moments, fought so very hard. Perhaps even those who chose to go felt it, it was so very strong and so very incontestable.

It kept her gasping for air. But all she got was water.

_I don't want to die I don't want to die I don't want to die_

Her lungs were scraping, aching for oxygen, or just something that wasn't water. She continued to claw at the waves, but her limbs were so heavy and the sea so ferocious, furiously pummeling her down down down.

_I DON'T WANT TO DIE_

•••

XXX

The body lay sprawled on the once shining crystal, now ugly and crimson from lashes of blood. Its limbs were cast across itself, one hand lying on its chest, another reaching limply out in the direction of the sea.

It was clothed in a dark purple jacket, grey waistcoat, and bow tie. The clothing was torn at the edges and shining with blood trails.

Its eyelids were lolling half-over a pair of eyes of an unnamable colour. Its mouth was twisted, cut short in a scream, or a yell, or just a soundless shout of anguish. Its hair was strange, looked like it had once been perfectly placed into a chestnut brown quiff, but now lay flat and damp against its skin. Its cheeks were pale and sallow, clammy with sweat. More blood was clotting on its mouth and chin, dripping onto the ground.

Madame Kovarian stared coldly at the body, for one minute, then another. Then she smiled.

"It is done, my friends! Where once we have failed, we have now succeeded!"

She stepped towards the body, smiled wider.

A soldier followed her. "But, sorry, what about the woman?"

Madame Kovarian did not give the soldier a passing glance. "The girl is dead. The waters of Virana are much too strong for any mere human to deny. Even Time Lords would struggle against its wrath."

Kovarian turned, her left eye now fixed with a silver eyepatch. "It has been accomplished! I await my reward and the promise of a future free of the Doctor and the darkness it is prophesied he will bring upon us!"

The Silence, who had been standing still as sentinels around the area, moved. They all stepped forward as one.

"You have done well," one rasped, its voice hollow and wispy.

Kovarian smiled again, though less of a smile than a pleased leer.

"We no longer have need of you," it said.

Madame Kovarian only then looked afraid.

"No. No! I helped you! I killed him! You need me!"

"We do not need anyone."

"No, please. You can't!" she was no longer the tall and cold Madame Kovarian now. She was cowering, backing away. Her voice was shaking, her eyes were afraid.

The Silence did not feel pity.

The woman screamed as the eyepatch she wore crackled with electricity, and she crumpled to the crystal. She could not be alive.

The four soldiers who had accompanied Kovarian soon realised that they would not be spared. Two of them tried to run, but were surrounded and quickly felled. One of the smarter ones pulled off her eyepatch, only to be struck with a fork of energy from one of the Silence themselves. The last crouched down and cried to his death.

When all was silent, the tall, pale creatures moved to stand around the only body that mattered to them, the one in the purple jacket, with the silent scream, and slowly trickling blood.

They looked at it. Strange, gravelly sounds emitted from them. Perhaps they were talking. Perhaps they were laughing.

As one, they turned and walked away from the body, silently across the plain. No one was there to see them disappear over the darkened horizon, no one was there to see that they were gone.

Still the body lay, growing colder with the seconds and minutes.

It wasn't moving.

That's because it was dead.


	33. Peace and Chaos

A/N GUYS!

What if eleven gets injured/sick in the 50th and has to regenerate? And it's really slow like ten's radiation poisoning? And that's why all the Christmas special pics are all happy? Because the Doctor and Clara have a last happy time together? And he gets to have one safe, enjoyable christmas not saving the world for once? And the whole episode he knows he is dying? And they have a party and its all fluffy? And whouffle is abundant because he knows he won't be around much longer anyway? What if? WHAT IF?

Why do I torture myself?

AND WHERE THE BLOODY HELL IS OUR FIFTIETH TRAILER MOFFAT!?

Sorry I'm emotional today

•••

She was starting to accept it. Death, that is. Technically, she'd accepted it the second she decided to jump off that cliff. But her instincts hadn't.

They were now.

_Hello death,_ she thought madly. _Hello. I'm Clara. Clara Oswald. How's life? Or, I mean, how's death? Good? Sounds peaceful._

She laughed. Lost the last of her air.

_I'm not too good, but thanks for asking. See, there's this little thing. I jumped off a cliff for my friend. Well, kind of friend. Not totally sure what he is. It's a bit soap opera. Very complicated._

She laughed again, throat burning.

_Maybe I'll see him again one day. In death. What do you think? Or maybe he'll never die. I hope he does. One day. When he needs to. Everyone deserves to die. It would be a privilege, a sanctuary, a dream, I think, for him. Finally, an end. He's lived too long. Make sure you take him one day, won't you, death? When he needs to go. When he deserves to go._

_Maybe I just won't see him because there's nowhere to be. Is there? Is there somewhere after death? Heaven? Hell? Limbo? Fields of Asphodel? Reincarnation? Or did none of the religions get it right? Is there nothing? Is there nowhere? How about it, death? Will I just die, decompose, have my atoms scattered into creation? Just black, no noise, no sound, no colour, no anything? _

_Sounds peaceful._

Clara choked on the water as she laughed again.

Why was she laughing?

Because it was funny. Ha ha. Funny Clara. Funny death.

A surge of water spun her around, and she grasped again onto the last pieces of her mind. Stay sane.

And she felt it again.

Her lungs were rasping, burning, water was scraping down her throat. It was gathering as a weight inside her, and she was sinking, sinking.

And she stopped.

Stopped struggling, stopped moving, stopped attempting to breathe.

It was easy, in the end.

So easy. So simple. So calm.

Her hair swirled around her in a fan, dress fluttered, the water was cool and smooth against her skin. Little droplets of blood floated up to the surface, rippling with the current.

She thought perhaps she might have thought something in those few moments. Had some existential revelation, reflected on every last day of her life, devoted her final thoughts to a desperate plea or regret or wish or love.

But actually, there was nothing.

Nothing.

And then it was a bit like falling asleep.

Peaceful.

Except for the strong hand pulling at her wrist. A touch that was real, something she could sense in this world of water and blur.

But then even that faded away.

Peaceful.

•••

THE DOCTOR...

EARLIER...

The Doctor's limbs were aching horribly, his eyesight was veering and swimming uncertainly. His joints protested against his waterlogged weight as he pulled himself up and into the TARDIS, which hovered just above the fiercely swirling sea.

He had swum as hard and fast as his Time Lord body could manage, helped by the extensive swimming lessons he had had on Fitel Z, a planet renowned for oceans nearly as ferocious as the one he had just jumped into. In spite of this, he had come perilously close to drowning more than once. Which would not have been good. Underwater regenerations were more than tricky.

Once at a reasonable enough distance from Kovarian and the Silence, and Clara, he had sent out a signal for the TARDIS, who materialized diligently.

"Thank you, old girl," he patted the door, dragging himself to his feet. "Sorry about the water."

He staggered over to the controls, quickly switching on the scanner to see what was going on back on the cliffs. He didn't feel particularly good about leaving Clara alone with them, but knew it was their only chance of getting out of this. It was simple to work out what their motive was: they would threaten him with Clara's death, forcing him to regenerate.

There were no loopholes in that situation.

_It was the only thing you could do. The only chance you could have taken._

He just hoped his duplicate would hold up until he got there. He hoped it would distract the Silence, just like they had done him, enough so that he could save Clara.

And hopefully himself, too.

It had not taken much effort nor time to reconfigure the puddle of Flesh the ganger Clara had collapsed into. It had not taken much, either, to convince the duplicate him of his plan. Ganger-Doctor was solemn, but agreed, accepting his fate quite easily when informed that Clara's life was at stake.

It was funny, when he had been wishing himself farewell. Other-him had looked at him for a minute or two, and then smiled.

"If you're me, you're the Doctor, then perhaps I can convince you of something. Something I've not been able to convince myself. Something _you_ have not been able to convince yourself." he'd said.

The Doctor was curious as to what he might say to himself, but, being himself, had an inkling or two.

"You've told me the dangers of the situation, you've told me what Clara is facing. And I am not hesitating to do what you say. Even though it will almost certainly cost my life. Do you see? I'm giving my life for hers. I'm you. _You_ are giving _your_ life for hers."

He had blinked at himself.

"You know what that means, don't you? But you can't accept it. I can't either. So, let me tell you, from myself to myself. Don't push it away. Don't forget it. Don't let it pass us by. Doctor, we deserve some brightness in all this dark. For us, _don't let her go._"

And with that, the ganger Doctor had turned away, and the real one had taken a shuddering breath before stepping forward towards the cliff and letting his weight carry him over the edge.

•••

The Doctor slammed open compartments, drawers and hidden stores, throwing miscellaneous items out behind him. He needed to find it, he needed to find it...

Open, scan, rummage, throw, shut. Open, scan, rummage, throw, shut. Again. Again. Again.

Where was it? Where was it? _Where was it?_

And then there it was, in one of the compartments beneath the console, under a copy of the New New York constitution and a couple of old Spanish galleons. He snatched it, held it up to the light.

_Yes_. There it was. A perfect silver Eye Drive. Thank Rassilon he had thought fit to keep it. A way out. A solution.

He leaped up the steps to the main level, kicking aside an ancient Egyptian crown he'd sort-of-accidentally stolen from King Narmer. Immediately setting to work, he strew the TARDIS with even more tools and objects, not particularly caring where he threw things as long as he was completing this task. This was what would save them. This was what would save Clara.

The Silence could control the eyepatches. They had embedded something in the construction of the device that they could control, causing it to kill the wearer with concentrated electricity. And what did they use to activate that something? A psycho-electric connection. A combination of the energy conduction power of the Silence and the ability of their minds to transmit it to the Eye Drives.

And, as he had been reminded only recently, a psychic connection goes two ways.

•••

The Doctor peered down at the cliffs, having materialized a hundred metres or so above the scene. He wanted more than anything to simply storm right in there, disable all their silly little guns, and use the instrument he had just constructed from the Eye Drive to use the Silence's powers against them. Kill them. But he couldn't. He had to make sure Clara was safe. He had to make sure interfering wouldn't cause them to simply kill her on the spot.

_All these thoughts of killing..._

He looked down, and there he was, lying there, dying. There was Clara too. She was letting him crush the life out of his hand, he was yelling, there was blood. He'd been shocked, the Doctor guessed, by one of the Silence. That was sure to kill him.

Clara was curled up, shivering. _They'd got her too._

He closed his eyes for a second against the red heat that swelled in his chest. He'd kill them. He'd kill them all.

_The fury of a Time Lord..._

Clara leant her head closer to the Other-Doctor's, said a few words. He said some back, some twisted, already-dead words.

Clara stood up.

A couple of soldiers restrained her. She didn't struggle.

Ganger-him was clawing at the ground, slowing, dying. And looking at Clara. He looked like he was trying to scream at her, but there was no sound.

Clara looked out at the sea. Back at the soldiers. Back at the sea.

He was steeling himself to go down, then. Send the TARDIS down and charge in and let loose the fire. They didn't deserve to live, who did? He could choose, couldn't he? He was the Doctor, the Oncoming Storm, the Predator, the Destroyer of Worlds. He could choose which lives were allowed to carry on, and which lives had to be taken. The Silence and Kovarian, they would only carry on killing and killing to find a way to kill him. He could choose to take their lives, and preserve Clara's.

He wanted to step away, to go to her. There was a fire in him, the one that scared him, the one he couldn't quench. And it screamed at him to go, to kill those who deserved to be killed. To save Clara. But he couldn't look away.

_Why couldn't he look away?_

And then Clara ran.

_Why did she run?_

Looked back.

_Why did she look back?_

And jumped.

_Why did she jump?_

He knew why.

He knew why.

A/N does this count as a cliffhanger? Hope not...thank you so much everyone. I got tons of reviews last chapter!

Review this one and I'll work extra hard on getting the next one up in a couple of days! Also, I've changed the cover for this story. I dont pretend to be accomplished at photo editing, but oh well.


	34. What If

A/N this one's early for all your beautiful reviews you've given me for the last couple of chapters! LOVE YOU ALL TO DEATH YOU CUTIES

•••

He should not have been shocked. He should have prepared for this kind of outcome. He should have thought about this possible- even probable- eventuality. But he hadn't.

He was so set on how he wanted things to be, his _own_ wishes, his _own_ ideas. That was a fatal flaw of his.

Quite a god complex.

He didn't want her to love him, so he didn't see it. He didn't want to believe he would lose her, so he thought she would be safe. He didn't want to think she would do something so stupid as sacrifice her life for him, so he pretended that she wouldn't.

Until it was too late.

And it was his _fault_. He had _asked_ her to come to him. He had _asked_ her to say goodbye.

He'd thought it would be his goodbye.

Not Clara's.

Then he was running, running, he couldn't even remember reprogramming the TARDIS, or landing, or anything. He was sprinting, slipping a little on the jagged ground. His waterlogged clothes dragged against the winds, so he pulled off his coat, throwing it aside along with the new-made Eye Drive contraption. All he could see was the horizon stretching out before him and the smooth line where the cliffs dropped away.

He stopped at the edge, looked down at the whipping grey-black water.

He couldn't see her.

He jumped. Fell.

The cold hit him for the second time, the sea just as fierce and tearing as before. Or more so. Like it knew the desperation in him. Like it was feeding on fear, using it to pull him under.

He did not fight against the current, and instead swam with it, deeper, deeper, deeper. The water stung in his eyes, searching the darkened surrounds. Where was she? Where was she?

The water pushed and pulled at him, bubbling and white, hindering his vision. He lashed and kicked, deeper, deeper, deeper.

And then he saw it, a flash of red. A flash of brown. _Clara_.

He fought harder against the whirlpool, felt his limbs straining and protesting. He needed air, he needed air.

Sweet, clear, glorious _air_.

Deeper, deeper, deeper into the water. He was so close, so close, so far.

His fingertips brushed her skin, she was barely moving, her body was drifting along with the sea. He grasped her wrist, she didn't react, didn't grab at his hand. _No_.

The water seemed to be clutching her, pulling Clara down and pushing him up. Forcing them apart, tearing his fingers away.

And then a rush of the current turned her head, he could see her gazing up at him. Or just imagine it, as her eyes were closed. Not even fluttering, not one bit.

_Was he too late?_

_Had he lost yet another?_

_Had he lost Clara?_

His hearts beat faster, harder. His lungs seared, burned. His mind raced, flew.

He wasn't afraid anymore.

He was angry.

He struck out at the water, willing it to cease its raging. He was the Doctor, and an unimportant little alien sea would not stand before him. No. Nothing would.

He was the Doctor. The Time Lord Victorious, the Predator, the Oncoming Storm. He was the last of the Time Lords, and nothing, _nothing_- not time, not space, not anything- would stop him.

Nothing _could_ stop him. And he would not stand to lose anyone else, no matter the cost.

Not Clara.

The next stretch of time- seconds? Minutes? Hours? His acute sense of these passing seemed to fade and distort- was not clear in his mind. There was water, so much water, thrashing and swirling and drowning. There was pain, heaviness, a violent need for air, cool air. There was rage, heat and cold, everywhere, everything. And there was Clara, and his tight grip on her wrist.

He thought, maybe, he would rather drown with her than let go.

There was light, soft grey light, reaching down through the black in shafts. There was the thinning of pressure on his chest. There was Clara's arm slipping between his fingers, a second when his every nerve clenched. There was a blurred, warped image of the bottom of the TARDIS, hovering just above.

And then there was air. And with it, relief so potent he wanted to laugh.

But instead, he hoisted Clara up above the waves- still pounding around them. She was still unconscious. Unconscious or...or nothing.

Or nothing.

There was a gentle flutter of a heartbeat at her wrist, and relief melted through him again.

But only for less than a second.

He felt more than saw the colossal wave rising before them. It rose high, high, higher even than the cliffs themselves.

He had only the minimum of seconds to pull Clara to his chest and lock his arms around her before the tempest of water struck down upon them.

Air-shaken white foam forced its way down his throat, the strong weathered hands of the ocean were a vice around his chest, ripping, tearing at Clara in his arms.

They spun and twisted and twirled, upside down, right side up, sideways, crossways, every way there was.

He very almost let go.

Another surge pushed them another way, was it up? Was it towards the sky? Or further, down to the depths and the dark?

And then there was air, light again, and the TARDIS. It stood there, doors open, waiting.

He tread water, could feel the very last dregs of energy being leeched from him. He snatched at them, gathered them, and loosened his grip on Clara just for a second, long enough to lift her out of the water and thrust her weakly onto the TARDIS floor.

Looking up, he saw the second looming wave as less of a threat than a death sentence. He frantically yanked himself after her, muscles screeching, coughs hacking at his chest.

The doors swung shut behind him.

And he breathed.

Again.

Again.

He squinted at Clara, slung across the ground beside him, and breathed again.

Again.

She didn't.

Clara didn't.

Choking down the cold cry in his throat, he limp-ran down the object-strewn stairs, not at all caring what he stepped on or kicked aside. Not looking back even when he heard a smash that could only be some priceless relic.

The TARDIS was feeling helpful, he supposed, and produced what he was looking for in the first cabinet he opened. Oxygen mask from a New New Earth hospital. Bit big, but he wasn't being choosy.

His feet crunched on the shards of the glass and scraps of metal, ascending the stairs in two leaps to where Clara still lay.

Still lay.

Lay still.

He fit the mask around her mouth, desperately adjusting the straps and turning it on to let pure oxygen flow.

This was the most advanced piece of technology he had encountered that could help her. At least without side effects more drastic than her present condition.

It had to work.

It would work.

It would.

He remembered thinking, before, that he would not have enough life left in him to cry. If he lost Clara. That any of the remaining happiness, and joy, and love would be sucked away. And all the other things would fill in the void left behind.

He was half right. He didn't cry. He couldn't cry.

He hoped.

He couldn't bring himself to touch her, not even take her hand.

What if she was cold?

What if he felt her pulse under his fingers as it faded to nothing?

What if he touched her skin as it grew slowly cool and grey?

What if he looked into her eyes as they lost their shine?

What if he stood by her as she died?

What if? What if?

So the Doctor straightened, muscles burning, eyesight wavering, mind dizzied.

And he looked away.

•••

Oh sh*t that's kind of a cliffhanger isn't it.

I don't know how else to end a chapter? im sorry :(

Review and receive virtual Doctor hugs! (just picture the end of the name of the doctor with you instead of Clara and i promise it will make you happy)


	35. Peaceful

A/N Guuuuuuuys! THING!

Steven Moffat, in a behind-the-scenes thing on the series 7 DVD, said quite simply and straightforwardly that the Doctor fancies Clara! That he knows he shouldn't "but he really, really does".

It's.

fricking.

CANON!

(yay now give us some whouffle in the Christmas special or else)

ALSO due to all those EIGHT WONDERFUL REVIEWS I got for the last chapter, this one's early. :)

YES DID YOU HEAR THAT

EIGHT

I LOVE YOU

•••

CLARA

Death was a very strange thing.

An end to life, essentially, is all it was. But in that, it was strange.

What is death? What is life? Is it nothing? Is it everything? Is it only what we think it might be?

Humans design and hold onto their little ideas of what death is like. They have religions, gods, things they believe will unfold after one's heart stops beating.

Perhaps one of them is true. Perhaps none of them are true. Perhaps all of them are true.

Perhaps no one can ever know.

But she wasn't thinking about what happened _after_ death. Not anymore. She remembered pondering it before, though, in the unforgiving grip of the sea. Well, not pondering it. Rather madly searching for it.

But no, now she was thinking about the strangeness of death itself. And what it makes people do, what it makes them think.

What had she thought, in those moments? Nothing truly comprehensible, nothing that made much sense now. She recalled having some deluded conversation, talking with death itself.

She had thought about the Doctor, whether he would meet her in death, one day. She had hoped he would. For his sake.

But further, deeper in the fading black, she hadn't thought about much at all.

Peaceful.

That was how she had described it.

Calm. Serene. Blank.

She was not dead then, but close to it. And it had been peaceful.

It was not peaceful now.

There was pain, spiderwebbing through her lungs. Every breath was too much, and not enough. Her limbs ached with fatigue, heaving and burning. Her mind was scattered, tilting and spinning inside her skull. Agony was everywhere, throat, chest, head, bones, skin.

It was wild, chaotic, racking, frenzied, violent, insane.

And it most definitely was not peaceful.

That's how she knew she was alive.

•••

DOCTOR

When the half-dead girl lying beside him took her first shuddering, gravelly breath, the Doctor first thought he had imagined it.

It cut through his tired, hazy thoughts, and was dismissed as a product of his mad hope.

And then he thought maybe it was /all/ his imagination. Every second of this hell. Clara's frantic, fearful eyes as she demanded to see the TARDIS life scanner. The black message neatly scrawled on the psychic paper. His anger and loneliness and desperation running amok in his mind as he asked her to come to find him for a last goodbye. The dawning, horrific realisation that he had been wrong, that he had led her into unimaginable danger. The look on each of the doppelgängers' faces when he turned them to pure Flesh. The rush of wind as he'd fallen through the air into the sea. Watching himself die, clutching Clara's hand. Seeing her run to the cliffs and throw herself off, giving herself to the ocean below. Diving after her, almost losing both of them in the raging waters.

All of it. Just a hallucination. A terrible, terrible waking nightmare.

But then it came again. The breathing.

Again.

Again.

He stared at her.

She was moving.

She was

_alive_.

Clara.

_Alive_.

He jolted over to her and yanked off the mask, leaving her to breathe freely and cough in harsh, wet barks.

She hadn't seemed to realise he was there, holding her hair back from her face as she coughed saltwater from her lungs. She was shivering violently, blood trickling from cuts and wounds all over her body from the crystal, and places where she had scraped her own nails into her skin.

When the fit of coughing and half-breaths finally ceased, her arms gave out and she collapsed to the floor, shaking. But moving. Breathing. _Living_.

_Thank you._

_Dear universe, thank you._

Her chest rose and fell as she lay on her side, sucking in deep breaths of air that rattled in her lungs.

Her eyes were squinting open. It was hard to tell if she could see him at all.

When he spoke, the word rasping in his throat, he didn't think she understood. "Clara? Clara, are you alright?"

Of course she was not alright. She had stopped breathing. She had almost..._died_. For _him_. She had jumped off that cliff, to her death, to save _him_.

Now he couldn't stop himself from touching her, knowing that she wouldn't just let go of life in his arms.

He pushed the ropy, dripping hair from where it stuck to her cheeks, wiped the bloody fingerprints from her skin.

She looked up at him.

"Doct-" her words were interrupted by another round of coughing, and he held a hand to her forehead and she retched the last of the killing water.

She was weak, so weak, weaker than him. And he was barely able to lift his limbs.

She fell back against him, and he stiffened at her limpness.

"I'm fine," she whispered. "I am."

_No you're not. You could have died. Your death, in my name. _

Clara's death, and it would have been him who had caused it.

But he only said, "You're fine. Yes. You're fine."

He had to reassure himself.

Clara was clutching onto the edge of his waistcoat, her eyes were closed again.

She inched them open, and murmured, her words slurred, "It hurts, Doctor. I need...Tired. I'm so..." she couldn't seem to finish.

He sat there for less than a minute, Clara lying across his chest, before he, too, shuffled his body along the ground, leaning against the TARDIS door.

Time Lords didn't need to sleep much. Barely one night in a week or two. Not even. But now, now, every breath was still catching on a rusty nail stuck in his ribs, and just moving an arm cost him. His thoughts were sluggish and jumbled, all he could gather from them was that he was just so _tired_.

He clutched Clara's lolling, sleeping form to his chest, holding tight to her hand and letting his cheek rest against hers. It occurred to him, somehow, that this was probably a bit inappropriate, a bit too close, a bit too entwined. He thought that maybe the warmth he felt from their closeness- despite them both being freezing and saturated- was a bit too strong for his liking.

But then, as his eyelids weighed shut without him having to force them, without fearing for a lone night in the dark with his memories, he realised. He realised that Clara was here and safe, and anything else he couldn't spare a thought for.

He slept.

Peaceful.

A/N sorry it's short. :(

Thank you again for reviewing (I sound like a particularly annoying broken record here)


	36. Occupational Hazard

A/N several things to say today.

FIRSTLY, a very nice guest suggested a brilliant song called 'Underwater Bride' by Passenger which relates very closely to the last couple of chapters (especially 34). Speaking of music, there's a particular song listened to while writing ch 32-34. It's called Sinking Man by Of Monsters and Men and it actually gives me shivers. Please, go listen, it's perfect!

ALSO, this is the second last chapter. It was joined with the last chapter but it was too long. Only one more to go everyone :(

THIRDLY, there's a reference to one of the specials on the new DVD in here, it's called Clara and the TARDIS and on YouTube if you want to watch it.

FIFTH, Cat, don't you worry. I'm not going to do a full conversion into a Steven Moffat/George R.R Martin writer.

FOURTH, I got like seven reviews for the last chapter! You guys are fricking awesome and I love you. (Goal for 200?) ;)

•••

When she woke up, Clara instantly become aware of two equally impacting things.

The first was that she seemed to be inhaling tongues of fire instead of air and she felt like she been run over by a truck while the driver was in a particularly sadistic mood.

The second was that she was curled up against the Doctor's chest, and he had an arm wrapped firmly around her.

And they were both soaking wet.

Hooray.

She dutifully tried to ignore his steady breaths tingling against the back of her ear and wished herself asleep again, away from the pain, back into the nothing.

Minutes ticked by, and no, she did _not_ enjoy the warmth his body was radiating. She did _not_ gaze over his peacefully sleeping face, features so much softer, the muscles around his eyes slack for lack of the usual laugh lines or tenseness. She did _not_ feel reluctant to move from where she was. _Of course she didn't._

And then she heard him whisper.

"C...Clara..."

She stopped breathing, though it made her lungs ache.

"Why-why...I can't..." he murmured, weakly, almost fearfully. "No...Cl-Clara..."

She carefully lifted his arm off of her, shuffling from her position against his chest and pulled her aching body to its feet. She felt cold, sort of alone, now, and really kind of wanted to lie back down and go back to the tranquility of sleep.

Her arms wrapped around herself, she looked back down at the Doctor, tossing and turning now, still muttering nothings. He soon settled back out of whatever nightmare he has been having.

She remembered him saying once that he didn't require much sleep, but he was dead to the world now, despite the hard, cold TARDIS floor.

"Okay," Clara murmured wearily, loping around the corridor that (usually) led to the wardrobe. "You better not have moved it this time cos if I don't get a hot shower in the next ten minutes I'll spill coffee on you. Look at my near-death experience and tell me if I'm joking."

Fortunately for her, and the TARDIS, the wardrobe was the first room she came to, and a luxurious bathroom the second. When she entered the large, glistening white room she patted the door frame fondly and said, "Starting to get used to me, are you? Let me tell you, my saltwater hair is weeping in gratitude." But then she remembered that she was talking to a machine that had once led about fifty different tired and irritated versions of her into the console room at the exact same time, and felt a little less thankful.

After taking a considerably long and painful shower, changing into some dry clothes without small dried blood stains, and taken some weird medicine she'd found beside the sink (which she'd been wary of, but decided the TARDIS was being nice today) Clara began to feel substantially closer to her usual self. But still felt like her ribs had been run over by a steamroller.

She returned to the control room to find the Doctor still dead asleep, in a quite uncomfortable-looking position against the TARDIS door. It was only then that she properly realised: she was _alive_.

And so was the Doctor.

She didn't remember much, just feeling the whisper of fingers on her wrist before everything went into nothing. And a few delusional flashes of coughing her lungs out.

How had they both survived? How had he saved her?

Her head started to spin again, and she abandoned the train of thought.

It seemed the ship was continuing its helpful trend, and she found a blanket on which she propped the Doctor's lolling head, and a second that she threw over him. He was still saturated, must've been cold.

Curling her legs up on the little chair beside the railing, she looked down at him, and it reminded her of the first time she had met him. When she had almost been uploaded by the spoon heads, and had woken up in her bed beside a plate of Jammy Dodgers.

He was so still, calm, such a contrast to his waking demeanour. Clara half wanted him to stay like that for awhile, worriless, peaceful.

There was a dog-eared Agatha Christie paperback sitting forgotten under the console, which she picked up to occupy herself and distract her from how adorable the Doctor looked with his hair all floppy like that.

It was about half an hour or so before he finally woke up, with a second of flailing and leaping to his feet.

"Simmer down, Doctor, I'm right here. Missing me, were you?"

He swallowed, ran a hand through his hair. "Are you alright? What are you doing?

She rolled her eyes at him, and, despite knowing that now was definitely not the time for teasing and flirting, said, "Not you, mister. Though you were quite a comfortable pillow."

Classic furrowed brow. "Not _doing_..." Eyes wide, mouth open. "What-no-Clara!"

She raised an eyebrow in reply. He swallowed again.

"I need to get out of these clothes," he muttered, looking down at himself. "I mean...no...uh...I'll be right back."

Clara sat back with her book as he disappeared into the depths of the TARDIS, trying to concentrate on Poirot's new mystery, even though she'd read it a thousand times before. She was trying to forget, to ignore everything that had happened yesterday, or today, or two days ago- she didn't know how long she had slept. She didn't particularly want the Doctor to remember either.

"Orient express? Agatha almost fooled me with that one. Well, almost nearly," his voice echoed from the other side of the console, having returned with dry clothes and a new coat, hair back to being perfectly coiffed.

"She got me," Clara replied, glancing up and closing the novel. "I thought it was someone who wasn't a passenger, and one of the suspects was just an accomplice."

"Ah. Red herring, that one."

"Speaking of red herrings...how the hell are you alive?"

"Doppelgänger. Did I tell you? They use this thing called the Flesh to create duplicates of people. They did it to me. That's why I disappeared. They did it to you, too, actually. As a distraction. And, somehow did it to some of my past companions, including you. I disabled the doppelgängers and reprogrammed the Flesh to create one of myself, and voila! Two Doctors, one to occupy the Silence, one to save you."

Clara didn't know how much she understood of that. "Oh right, easy fix. How about we go back and do it again, I watch you die, get shocked repeatedly, and throw myself off a cliff to nearly drown. Sounds like fun."

"Occupational hazard."

_"Occupational hazard?!"_ Was he crazy? He wasn't acting like himself, she could tell that. His words were too casual, his movements not flourished enough as he pulled levers and turned knobs on the console, which she got the feeling was just for show and he wasn't actually doing anything.

"Oi! Copycat!" he scolded lightly.

What was wrong with him? He hadn't even checked if she was okay, and she had literally almost died. That certainly was not like him. Usually he would be all over her with worry.

"So if all this doppelgänger stuff is true, I didn't even _have_ to jump off that cliff? I could _not_ have potentially given my life and you would have lived anyway?"

"Yup," he said breezily. "Funny how these things happen."

She really wanted to punch him, in his big ugly chin. Several times.

"I thought you were going to die. You weren't regenerating, to save _me_, so I had to make sure you survived. The only way to do that was to get rid of their only bargaining chip. I thought _I_ was going to die!"

"Well, that was silly of you."

Okay. That was enough. It wasn't that she wanted him to thank her or anything, it wasn't that she wanted some big emotional moment where he lamented over the fact that she would sacrifice her life for him, or that she had very almost drowned. She just wanted him to have some kind of sympathy, to actually acknowledge what jumping off that cliff meant. To show some _feeling_, show that he knew. Knew what she felt for him, thought about what he felt for her. Did he feel anything? He must. Or, he had. She knew he had. It had been quite obvious at times.

Did it even matter?

Did he even care anymore?

"Alright, okay, fine. I've had enough of this. I'm done. Take me back home."

He barely reacted, and even started whistling as he piloted the TARDIS. Clara didn't think the Sound of Music was appropriate for this moment, and told him so.

He stopped, worked his jaw, and then continued on again with 'Oh When the Saints'.

He skipped and twirled on his way to the door, flinging it open to reveal the familiar street of home.

"Home sweet home!" he exclaimed.

That was when she couldn't take it any longer. She punched him in the arm. His following cry of pain was much too exaggerated.

"Ow! This isn't going to become a habit, is it?"

"What's wrong with you?" she snapped.

"What's- what's wrong with _me_? Me?! _I_ didn't jump off a cliff!"

_Finally_. "Exactly!"

"Exactly exactly! Don't go jumping off cliffs! Particularly stupid since I had a plan worked out anyway!"

"Well I didn't know that! Do you mind telling me that you're going to replace yourself with an exact copy and leave him to die while I watch? And consequently drown myself so they can let you go?"

"I didn't tell you to do that!"

"You didn't tell me not to!"

"I shouldn't have to! Rule number 39: don't jump off cliffs for me!"

Oh, he was being _infuriating_. "Too little too late there, mister! I'm leaving anyway, you don't have to worry about me breaking 'rule 39' any longer. How about that?"

And with that, she stepped out, turned around on the nature strip and glared back at him with her arms crossed.

He was working his jaw, eyes darting about.

_Alright. That's enough. Leaving, leaving now._

God, she was acting like a little kid. But that didn't mean she wasn't angry. Even though she couldn't quite pinpoint the exact reason why.

She took the TARDIS key from where it hung on a chain around her neck, was about to throw it back at him in spite. But then he strode forward, took her by the shoulders and...kissed her.

Usually the Doctor was the shocked, fumbling one. Now it was her.

It was long, and slow, and simple, and made her mind go blank, almost blank, except for him and her hand in his hair and the memory of kisses they'd shared before that were similar yet totally different, and the memory of something to come.

Okay, not leaving then.

When he finally pulled away, the Doctor just wrapped his arms around her- rather too tight- and buried his hand in her hair, swaying a little in the wind.

"You're fine," he mumbled into the top of her head. "You're fine."

_I'm fine. You're not._

He pulled his arms away, set them on her shoulders and took the key where it hung from her fingers.

"I'm sorry," he said, placing it back in her palm and closing her fingers around it. "But you can't care about me. It's my job to care about you."

"Psychic connections go two ways."

"It's not a psychic connection."

"It's close."

He smiled, but his eyes didn't, and nodded towards the house. "They're waiting for you."

"And you." So she took his hand, and they both went up the path to where everything was waiting.


	37. Everywhere

A/N LAST CHAPTER EVERYONE. :(

I really wanted to list all of my followers, favouriters, and reviewers here but there are so many of you, it would be twice the length of the chapter itself. So just know that you, yes you, right there, are amazing. That's right. You've read this fic, you've followed it, hopefully you've reviewed it and I. Love. You. *hugs you*

I am planning on writing some more things, but more kind of oneshotty stuff. I'm not really prepared or have enough ideas for another chapter story with a convoluted plot line. I may in future, though. But I have something starting that I will post the first part of in the next few days, so watch this space!

I am so happy so many people have been reading this, and liking it. It really brightens my sometimes quite dreary days! I hope you can leave me one final review, tell me what you thought of the ending, have a chat etc. Goodbye, every one of you lovely people, goodbye, but not for ever!

And now, without further ado, here is the last chapter.

•••

THE DOCTOR

Artie was beating him at chess.

Artie was _beating him _at chess.

Artie _Maitland_ was beating _the Doctor_ at _chess_.

He could barely believe it. The young boy already taken six of his pawns, a rook, a bishop, both knights, and his queen was currently in a very compromising position.

There may possibly have been a reason for the Doctor's sudden ineptitude, which may possibly have been the young woman sitting beside him on the piano stool, who may possibly have been Clara Oswald.

She had her little hooked nose in a book- To Kill a Mockingbird, it seemed that she loved the old classics- and was looking up from it every few minutes to see the progress of the game. Complete with amused smirks whenever Artie took a piece.

"Another one! I'm gonna win!" Artie announced, knocking his last bishop off the board.

"Losing your touch, Doctor?" Clara commented teasingly.

"No, of course not. I am the best chess player this side of the universe! Well, on Tuesdays. And every second Friday. Funny story behind that, actually-"

"Your turn," Artie reminded him. The Doctor studied the board, and he was indeed in some deep trouble. How had he made such horrible moves?

Clara started humming something under her breath, and shifted on the stool (which was really big enough to fit both of them without touching at all) so that she was leaning back against his shoulder.

She was sitting right here next to him. Alive. Safe.

She had jumped off that cliff to save him, when they both should have died.

And that tune she was humming was _intolerably_ distracting.

Artie was giving him a funny look, so he quickly moved his single remaining rook forward a few spaces. His opponent broke out in a wide grin.

Oops.

"That's your queen, I'm definitely gonna win the next chess tournament now if I can beat you!"

The Doctor somehow doubted that 'definitely'. So did Clara, apparently, from her following little laugh.

_Focus._

Two pawns, a rook, and the king. It _was_ possible to turn the game around from here, as the Doctor certainly was an accomplished chess player.

But there was the tiny little problem of Clara Oswald dying, not dying, getting irritated at his feigned ignorance...kissing him (alright, maybe he kissed her. How did this sort of thing work anyway?).

He quickly moved the rook up a couple of spaces, hoping he wasn't blushing.

Clara's raised eyebrows suggested that he was.

"Check!" Artie said joyfully, making a final move.

He looked back at the board. Brilliant.

"Actually, Artie...that's checkmate," he corrected.

"Checkmate!" the boy yelled, jumping up from his chair. "I beat him! I beat him!" He ran out of the room, the Doctor's king in hand.

•••

"You know you wouldn't have won, Artie, if the Doctor hadn't been staring at Clara for the entirety of the game," Angie Maitland commented.

_Don't blush you idiot._

He hadn't been staring at her, had he? At least, not for the _entire_ game? But Artie looked skeptical of his own win, now.

Apparently, he had.

"Where's George?" he changed the subject.

"Work. Another 'crisis'." Angie made quotation marks with her fingers. "Which reminds me, where did you go last night, Clara? Spend it on the TARDIS, did you?"

"Angie!" Clara glared.

"Hey, he's not _my_ boyfriend."

The room went uncharacteristically quiet, where Angie was smirking, Clara was giving her a withering look, and the Doctor just didn't know what to say.

What did normal earth boyfriends do? Made their significant other happy, he supposed. Talked with them, knew all about them. Thought they were kind and funny and pretty. Spent time with them. Couldn't bear the thought of losing them. Took them to nice places just to see them smile. Kissed them, and...other things...

He tugged at his bow tie, felt his blush deepen.

"Wonder what he's thinking about that's made him go all red." Angie commented to Clara.

He tapped Beethoven's 9th distractedly out on the table, trying to occupy his mind on something other the smile Clara was shooting him, obviously trying to hold back laughs.

•••

THE NEXT DAY (actually like an hour later for the Doctor but the next day for Clara... wibbly wobbly timey wimey)

The Doctor found himself spinning, darting his feet across the cracks in the path as he approached the door, glowing white with a window of frosted glass.

He hopped onto the doormat, and noticed something he hadn't before. Tied above the doorframe, a little sprig of mistletoe. Someone must have hung it up for Christmas, and hasn't taken it down.

He smiled, and decided that, however awkward, that had been a very good Christmas. One of the best. And that was not solely due to the uncharacteristic lack of deadly aliens.

He buzzed the doorbell, once, twice, thrice, then knocked on the glass. Artie appeared within just a minute or two, and opened the door to admit him.

"Gooood morning Artie! I mean," he checked his watch. 12:36, Sunday. "Good afternoon! But it doesn't feel like afternoon, how about good little-bit-after-morning-but-not-quite-afternoon-a nd-definitely-not-evening-just-yet?"

"Um, sure. Clara's upstairs."

"Ah, but how do you know that I'm here to see Clara?"

Angie, coming down the stairs, replied, "Because you're stupidly happy and smiling like an idiot."

He opened his mouth to protest, but then realised that it was probably, regrettably, quite true. "Where's your dad, then?"

Artie looked at the floor. "At work again. I wish he would stay home for once. He's been going out all the time since...since..."

He patted the boy on the shoulder. "Well, I bet you'll win that next chess tournament."

He smiled, "If I can beat you, I can beat anyone!" and skipped off, presumably to coerce his sister into a game.

He took the stairs three at a time, swinging around on the banisters. He knocked on Clara's door ten times in quick succession.

She opened the door with a smile. "Hey there, chin boy."

"Oi, _enough_ with the chin! I don't go on about your nose!"

"That's only 'cause you don't want another punch in the arm."

"True."

She stood and looked at him for a few seconds, before asking, "You gonna get out of my doorway?"

"Why, you going somewhere?"

"No, I'm going to mope around my bedroom all day."

"Oh, oh. Do you want me to leave then?"

"_Sarcasm_, Doctor. Let's go."

"Who says we're going somewhere?"

"We're always going somewhere."

"What if I don't want to?"

"Of course you do."

"What if I said I just want to stand here in your doorway?" There. He _could_ do sarcasm.

"In my _bedroom_ doorway?"

Her little smile coaxed a mirroring one on his own lips. "Yes...?"

Clara rolled her eyes. "Fine." And then stepped right up to him, within millimetres of his chest. Stood on her tiptoes. Put her hands behind his neck. Kissed him. A lot. Was that a fitting adverb for kissing?

When she pulled away, he had to blink and work his jaw several times for loss of definite thought.

Clara slipped past him, grabbing his hand and leading him down the stairs. He had to admit, he stumbled a bit along the way.

"Oh, damn, George's not home yet," she muttered, peering out the window at the driveway.

"He's at work," the Doctor told her.

She gave him a slightly puzzled look. "I know. I live here, Doctor."

"Yes, yes, of course."

"Oh, you know what, it's a time machine anyway. Angie!" the last bit was directed down the hall. "I'll be back in ten! Look after Artie!"

And she pushed him out the door, shutting it behind them.

He recovered himself, hop-stepping down the path, as Clara laughed beside him, to where the TARDIS was parked. He clicked his fingers and flourished his hands as the doors opened.

"Show off," she muttered teasingly, stepping in.

He leaped around the console, swirling his coat behind him. "So, where d'you wanna go? England, 1349? Nice year, that one. Sunny for once. Some nice people too. Except for...oh, you know," he coughed.

"The bubonic plague?"

"Yes. Yes, that. Alright, not 13th century England then. You ruin all my fun. How about...space Vegas! I said I'd take you there! Or Sisthwa, the city made of song! We could go meet Leonardo da Vinci, Claude Monet, Elizabeth the First!"

"You know Elizabeth the First?"

"In fact I do...on second thoughts, let's just go to Space Vegas. Yes. I'm pretty sure old Liz won't be happy with me. I accidentally married her."

Clara laughed, her eyes twinkling at him across the controls.

"You _are_ staying, aren't you?" he asked softly.

"You're not getting rid of me anytime soon."

_Not on purpose, anyway. You'll go someday. Someday there'll be a goodbye._

But not today.

What was that he'd said, years and years ago, to a grieving mother on Christmas Eve?

_What's the point in being happy now if you're going to be sad later? The answer is, of course, because you're going to be sad later._

"Good," he grinned. "Brilliant! Fantastic!"

He crossed the room, took her face in his hands, planted a kiss on her forehead. But then he looked at her shining eyes, and reconsidered. Wasn't a coward for once.

He kissed her. Properly. Actually. Just little, just soft, just short. It made something rise in his chest, something warm and sunny and...and _free_. Free of uncertainty, mystery, doubt, fear. Was that how people described kisses?

He kissed her again. Stopped himself before a third time.

"So where _are_ we going?"

"Where are we going?" he took her hand, running around to the other side of the console. "Clara Oswald, we are _going_..."

He smiled again, some kind of irrepressible happiness surfacing in the curl of his lips, and in his tight grip on Clara's hand.

"_Everywhere_."


End file.
